Cruel and False
by Blue Sky Rage
Summary: Hell is empty and the Devil is on earth. All people have a role in life. Bane was the necessary evil while the Batman was the necessary good... but what was she meant to be, a girl with not even a name?
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Batman or any characters created by Bob Kane or Chuck Dixon. This story is based off the trilogy by Christopher Nolan with tidbits of the comics laced in.

A/N: Just so you guys know, I am a very slow updater. Due to working constantly and sleeping at different places every other week, it can be hard for me to update. I'm also still writing another story. But, I hope you enjoy what you read for the time being. Cheers!

* * *

**Bane**

Darkness.

It was what he knew best. He had been trapped in it. Died in it. Reborn in it. When he finally reached the light he was no longer a man but a monster. Sustainable only by anesthetics to subdue his constant pain. That was another thing he knew quite well.

Pain.

He once feared these things. Darkness, pain, misery, hopelessness. That was before he had been liberated. Before he learned that weaknesses can become allies. Let the things you fear become a part of you. Then you can allow yourself to become more than just a man. You can be something else entirely.

Bane found solace in the dankness of the sewers. The echoes of sounds and voices from his men reminded him of the prison. The chasm known as 'Hell on Earth'. There, he discovered the girl that changed his life.

The stuffed bear in his hands was crudely sewn and old as well. Dirt and tears blemished its figure. The straw stuffing was nearly nonexistent. His large finger traced its eye. This comfort toy had once been hers. Back when she was innocent. Before the death of her mother. When she escaped, she left it behind. The days following his violent beating, he found this _osito_ in her old cell. It then became _his_ comfort. Battling through agony and pushing away death, he would grip tightly to the bear and think that it was worth it. The little girl was free. His suffering was worth it.

Little did he know that she would come back for him. Liberate him. Rebuild him. She had her father take him into the League. He already knew how to fight and how to kill. He had murdered his first man when he was only eight. The League gave him wisdom and discipline. It gave him a new perspective on life… and she gave it direction.

Bane doubted that she even remembered the little bear, the _osito_. She is beyond thoughts of the past, especially frivolous toys. She has become more fierce since her father's murder. She has become driven by a single cause.

_"My father deserves retribution."_

_"Your father hated me."_

_"Yet you loved me, his daughter. My father was right about Gotham. After assimilating, I discovered how deep its corruption and greed had been running. Gotham needs to be liberated and the Batman destroyed for betraying my father."_

_"Your father excommunicated me. It is not my duty."_

_"Edmund…" _she was the only one who knew his real name._ "I need you. You're the only one I can rely on."_

"Sir." the voice behind him stirred him from his memories.

"We have someone for you." the man stated.

Bane's dark eyes traced every scratch and stitch of the _osito, _not seeing it... but rather the girl it had belonged to many years ago."Why are you here?" his voice contained a touch of annoyance. He detested being disturbed.

The man mistook the question to be directed at the captive, "Answer him!" he snapped.

Bane heard the captive grunt as his worker hit him.

"No…" Bane gently placed the toy under a pile of newspapers. "I was asking _you_." He stood from his crouching position and turned slowly towards his men and the captive. The men shifted uncomfortably beneath his stare. Before the men could answer, Bane's eyes turned to the captive and glinted with recognition.

"Commissioner Gordon." his voice could be easily mistaken for amusement.

Gordon's face was slick with sweat as he looked up at Bane. He appeared disorientated from what Bane could only guess was a bash on the head. Besides the gash on his forehead, the detective remained unharmed… but that would change soon enough. The confusion was clear in his eyes and, as he took in Bane's size, the fear was too.

Bane's men grew proud of their catch. "We found him slinking around in the tunnels." One said.

He stepped closer towards them and finally placed a heavy hand on the shoulder of the man to Gordon's right. He did not know his name. He did not know any of their names. To learn them all would be unavailing. All of these men were meaningless to him. Men with empty pockets and empty minds were easy to control. It was amazing how effortless it was to make any random man into a loyal soldier. But, they must have been acting sloppy if the police were able to follow them back into the sewers. Bane did not need sloppy soldiers.

"You attacked the Police Commissioner of Gotham… and brought him here?" Bane asked calmly.

His hand gently moved upwards to the side of the man's neck. The man's terror was palpable. He immediately began sputtering an apology.

"I o-only thou-thought-"

But Bane was not in the mood to listen to his denseness. Because of these thoughtless men he would need to kill Commissioner Gordon or keep him prisoner. Then the whole city would be looking for him. They would look where he was spotted last… the sewers. It would force Bane to move the entire operation to a new location which would be nearly impossible at this stage of the plan.

No, he was not happy.

"Do you know what I must do now?" Bane cut across his prattling. His hand slid to the front of the man's throat, applying heavy pressure. He could feel the strained muscle and tendons beneath his grip. He could feel the slick sweat and the scratchiness of his neck beard. The arteries desperately attempted to pump blood. These sensations were all too familiar to Bane.

The nameless man's legs began to kick as his feet left the concrete. Bane raised him up as if he were as light as the _osito_.

He looked into the man's murky eyes. They looked the same as every other man he killed. Every other woman, child, or animal. No bubble of guilt built in his stomach. No flutter of humanity rang though his chest. Bane watched with small interest as the man's color began to turn dark and the veins in his forehead and temples bulged.

Without a second thought, he jerked his hand and with a resounding _CRACK_ the nameless man grew still in his grasp. A second following, a splash was heard. Bane turned just in time to see Gordon wash away with the river of waste beneath the overpass. He tossed the dead body away from him as the other men pulled out their guns and began shooting. Perhaps two shots connected with the target before he was out of range and sight. The men holstered their guns.

"Find him." Bane ordered passively.

"We don't know where that leads. He could be anywhere!" another nameless man dared to complain.

Deftly, Bane took the gun from the man's hip and held it to his chest.

"Then follow him."

The shot flew the man backwards and over the railing. His body became lost in the rushing water, chasing after Gordon's.

* * *

**Pilar**

The darkness was warm. It wrapped around like a comforting blanket. But all too soon, the warmth was being sucked away into a black hole and the real world began to trickle in through the darkness of sleep. It was the birds she heard first. The chirping of the common sparrows, the hooting from the pidgins, and worst of all the cawing of the crows. The crows came when the buildings blew up. All the bodies that had been left amongst the rubble became a feast for them. As the months went by, so did the garbage. Some days she would watch the fowls compete for their meals and ask herself when it would be her turn to become a feast for crows. But not right now…

Pilar covered her head with the blanket in attempt to block out the noise. Only the top of her messy hair peeked out of the worn out wool. She wanted to go back to warming darkness. It would not be granted to her this morning unfortunately. A sound alerted her that caused her to wake up in fear. She rapidly sat up with her eyes wide and still crusted from sleep. She kept still and listened intently. She heard the sound again and recognized it immediately.

Quickly she wrapped the blanket around her in a veil fashion, allowing only her eyes to show. She skulked quietly to the barred window facing the street. She crept her head up to peak cautiously through the bars. At the bottom of the stoop was a young man sifting through the garbage cans. He was too noisy for his own good. In the wrong neighborhood he would have been jumped already. Her eyes went to the metal bat that rested against the wall beside the window sill. She grabbed it for comfort. The leather grip beneath her palms eased her anxiety of the stranger. She kept her eyes on him until he left.

She exhaled a breath to quiet down her adrenaline before returning the bat to its spot against the wall. Walking back to her bed which had been reduced to a bare mattress on the floor, she dumped the blanket and headed for the kitchen. She stood in the doorway and stared listlessly at the bleak environment. The house had once been filled with many people. Her older brothers, her mother, and her father… Now the only thing that moved around the house were ants and mice… and Pilar.

After Bane desolated Gotham, adapting wasn't too hard for her. She was by no means from a privileged home. Both her parents had to work really hard to put food on the table and support Pilar and her brothers. Most of the time there would be only one meal a day. Dinner. And the portions would be small. So, Pilar was no stranger to hunger or to less than adequate food such as the can of refried bean paste she began heating over the stove.

She could get better food if she wanted. Bane had left one bridge open for supplies and provisions to be delivered by the army. She didn't know where, but at a certain point the cargo would be given to the Revolutionists and they would deliver it to the different quadrants of the city. She scarcely ever went though. It was risky to go out on your own. She was too worried about getting caught in the middle of a riot, being jumped, or followed home.

As a girl on her own, she especially feared men. She cut her hair short and wore baggy clothing to lessen unwanted attention. It seemed to work well enough. She had rather long eyelashes and full lips, but she had a sharp jaw and square chin. It gave her the appearance of a young man, which suited her just fine.

Day in and day out, the most taxing thing she would have to deal with was boredom. Her father's book collection helped a bit. Other times, when her courage was up for it, she would go around the streets finding glass bottles to shoot at with her sling shot. She couldn't deny she missed interaction the most. She had always felt some kind of loneliness in her home though. Her brothers would be harsh and teasing. Fights would always erupt between her and her mother. The only person she felt like she was actually friends with was her father.

She had just arrived home from school when it all happened. She guessed that her mother and father had died during the explosions, or after when trying to get home. Then the riots started and her brothers ran off to be a part of them. They had always had a penchant for pointless violence. They never came back for her. They were either dead… or just didn't care.

Aside from the boredom and the anxiety of being alone, life felt normal. Strange how quickly people could adapt to low conditions.

Today, it so happened, was a day where her courage felt strong. After tossing out her empty can, Pilar grabbed her sling shot and bag of marbles. Before leaving she checked the front door to make sure the lock was holding up, then went and slipped out through the backyard window.

* * *

The mannequin wore a sleek black top that ended just below the hips. The eyes followed downward to the shiny leggings it adorned. The color was purple and black, freckled with tiny stars amongst the dark clouds. On its feet were black platform pumps with studs decorating the heels. The mannequin posed in a slimming fashion. Hands on hips, elbows pointed out, knees slightly bent.

Pilar mimicked the stance and tried to imagine her clothes replaced with the mannequins. Months ago she envied any person who could dress this way. The clothing was beautiful and chic. Most of her clothing had come from the Salvation Army. Which wasn't _too_ bad. There were always a few neat things to find that one could throw together to make a very individual outfit. But individuality was not valued. Money was. Status was. When girls wore the clothing like the mannequin had on, some how they all became beautiful and popular. Pilar resented it.

She found a piece of concrete rubble the size of a baseball nearby and chucked it at the window. It shattered and the mannequin fell. She stepped into the display and looked down at the blank plaster face. It was silly really. She still found herself wanting those clothes. But there would be no point to them now… Well, was there _ever_ really a point to them?

No one dared to loot these type of clothing stores. To dress like the rich would mean having the risk of being abducted and taken to the Court. Only the rich, the privileged, and the greedy went there… or so Pilar heard. Bane was allowing the citizens to deconstruct the gap between rich and poor. He was giving them a chance to pull down those who were treading on their shoulders.

Pilar walked away from the store front and wandered down the block.

In a way, she could see the sense in all of this. The so called 'liberation' that Bane had brought. But there were no laws or rules. All the deaths that had come from all of this was not worth it. Everything was chaos and life had become dangerous… and every one was too scared to do anything about it.

She turned a corner and stopped in her tracks to see two teenage boys. They were standing in front of a bus stop bench. On the glass surrounding the bench where there use to be posters about upcoming movies or plays was now covered in black spray paint in the form of the Batman symbol

"These things are all over the city." the one kid said before spitting on the paint.

"Yeah, that asshole is never coming back for us." the other added in.

The one who spat pulled out a spray can from his pant pocket and began to put in his own message. Pilar silently watched as they added a red 'FUCK' above the Batman's insignia.

These people… they don't understand. They wait around for the Batman like religious people wait around for their god to answer their prayers. Why do they need someone to change their lives for them? Why can't they help themselves.? Don't they understand? Any one can be the Batman.

From the bag tied to her belt, Pilar pulled out a marble. She stretched the band of the sling shot and then let loose. She could hear it whistle in the air before making contact with the boy holding the spray paint can. He dropped the can and screamed as he clutched the side of his head. His friend whipped around to see her but she already had another marble ready to be loosed. This one flew and hit the second boy in the throat. As he choked, Pilar kept loosing marbles on the boys. One of which cracked against the first boy's thumb and she spotted the blood immediately. They quickly turned and raced down the opposite end on the street. Crying out, "You asshole!" before going out of view.

Pilar stuffed the sling shot back into her hoodie pocket before stalking over to the bench. One of the marbles had missed the boys and cracked the glass. Right in the middle of the Batman insignia. She sighed before picking up the spray can. It would be best to just cover up the whole thing. It doesn't really boost moral to see 'FUCK BATMAN' all over the city. She shook the can,

"Hey, you!"

She snapped her head in the direction of the voice. The first thing she saw was the gun and she ran. Shooting marbles at teenage boys was one thing, messing with an armed Revolutionist was pure stupidity. She ran as fast as her wiry legs could go. Close behind her, she could hear the heavy footfalls of the man chasing her. She grabbed a handful of marbles from her hip and dropped them behind her. With satisfaction, she listened to the Revolutionist slip and curse.

Her heart thundered and her chest heaved. She made a sharp turn onto another street but her shoulder clipped another man who had been waiting there. She flew sideways from the impact and tumbled into the street. Her hands and knees burned from being shredded by the the pavement but she scrambled to get up.

"Oh no you don't!"

One of them came up behind her and snatched her in a head lock. The harder she fought, the tighter the grip became. She yielded and watched as the fallen Revolutionist walked up to her.

"So I suppose you're one of the little shits that have been painting the city with the Bat symbol? Huh?" he sneered.

"No! It was there when I arrived!"

"Bullshit! Two idiots came running to tell us about you and I caught you red handed with the spray paint." he smiled deviously.

"Supporting Batman means you don't support Bane, by not supporting Bane you support the wealthy." the man accused. "Did you use to be a rich boy, hmm? Living on mommy and daddy's paycheck? Oh, but where are your Oxfords? Where is your pretty white polo?" the man japed.

"No, you don't understand-"

"What do your think we should do with Richie Rich over here, Lloyd?"

The man behind her gave a throaty laugh before deciding, "The Court sounds good to me, Rob."

Terror shot through Pilar so suddenly that it made her feel sick.

"I couldn't think of anything better!" the man named Rob cackled before stooping down and picking up her legs.

"_No_! I haven't done anything wrong! Let me go! _Let me go_!"

Pilar began screaming and thrashing but that only made the choke hold worse. She sputtered for air before reaching for a marble from the bag and whipping out her sling shot.

"What the-"

The scream he let loose was terrible but not as terrible as what the close range shot did to his eye. Rob dropped her legs and she kicked him in the face. She had been hoping that the attack would surprise Lloyd and his grip would slack but all it did was become terrifyingly tight. She choked as she attempted to scratch and pull at the arm against her throat. Blood poured between Rob's fingers and down his face as he gripped at his wound.

"You little fucking _cock_!"

His arm swung and the butt of his gun hit Pilar in the face. The warmth of darkness found her again.

* * *

**Bane**

"Order in the court!"

The crowd continued to roar. Mindless, frothy-brained animals. Gnashing their teeth at the lone figure sitting in the chair. The heavy clapping of the gavel eventually dulled their protesting.

"He should receive death by execution!" a man cried out. His right eye was heavily bandaged but even then there was still blood seeping through.

The tilted desks that once belonged to lawyers, congressmen, and judges were all tossed on top of one another. Beautifully designed and polished so that they all gleamed in the sunlight that poured from the windows. Raised high above everyone else sat Jonathan Crane at what use to be the mayor's desk. His disheveled appearance fitting him smoothly into the disorder surrounding him. The doctor's blue eyes glinted through his glasses as her stared down at the accused.

"As I said before, my good men, we have no name… No family to associate him with and no way of knowing his social status or if he is affiliated with the monstrous industrialists that once plagued this city. For what he did to you, sir-" he pointed at the newly cycloptic man, "-it is a tragedy, but not a crime I can condemn the young man for."

The crowd once again voiced their raving objections. Bane watched with curiosity at the accused. Many people come to the Court expecting death, as they should. For no one has left being claimed 'Not Guilty'. This one was afraid, yes. He could see it in the way the jaw was clenched and the lips tight. The eyes were lost though. The eyes glazed over and lost somewhere else.

"Although…" Jonathan Crane's voice rang out once more and the crowd quieted. "Assaulting another man and defacing public property is no longer a crime in our new society, spreading the symbol of the Bat_man_ is. It is a crime punishable by death. Do you have anything to say to your defense, young man?"

The black haired youth was mute. The doctor rested a fist beneath his jaw as he looked down at the young man. With his other hand, he crumpled a paper into a ball tossed it down. It bounced off the top of the young man's head.

"Come now. It's rude to not look at someone when they speak to you. What say you on your crime of supporting the Batman?"

Regardless what the boy said, he was going to be found guilty. The doctor just wanted to make more of a mockery of him. The eyes that had once been glazed over turned dark and hard as they turned upwards. The young man stared up at Jonathan Crane, his face now filled with cold anger.

"I am the Batman." he said roughly.

The entire courthouse was quiet. Jonathan Crane's hand fell from his jaw as he stared down at the boy. Both hands rested palms down as he slowly rose from his seat. A wild laugh burst from him. It's high pitched tones echoed in the hall. Then the crowd joined in the derisive laughter as the young man's face turned red. Bane stood from his seat at the back of the hall. As he walked forward, the laughter stopped as the crowd realized their liberator was in their midst. His hands gripped the lapels of his jacket as he stood in front of the boy. The young man's eyes started at Bane's combat boots, going up and up and up until he was looking into Bane's eyes.

"The Batman…" Bane's voice echoed in the hall. "… was a worthy adversary. A man of strength, vitality, conviction, and morality… however misplaced it all was. You… claim to be this Batman? With a body so small and substandard that I could break your bones by just a mere clench of my fist?" he held his hand out in front of the boy's face and saw his lip quiver. Bane's hand moved forward and tenderly touched the boy's jaw. It was smooth. His fingers skated on the skin of the boy's cheek. It was a cheek that was never burdened by a beard. His finger trailed down and touched the boy's bottom lip… and realized he was no boy at all.

"You claim to be the Batman but you are in fact a young girl." delight was plain Bane's voice as his hand returned to his lapel.

The crowd laughed once again at her expense and he could see her anger growing.

"If you are not the Batman, then where is he, girl? Where is your desperately needed hero? Does he see your little paintings in the streets? Why does he not come for you? Why will he not save you? What must I do to make my message _clear_? I already disassembled your first idol, the White Knight named Harvey Dent. I released you from the lies that governed you. Stripped the tainted officials of everything they had to allow you to _rise up_. Yet you still search for an idol. You _still_ search for something to worship." Bane's voice was laden with disgust as he stared down at her.

The crowd continued to laugh but they were the same, but instead of the Batman being their idol it was Bane that took the role. They obeyed his every word. Brainless, abiding soldiers… and Bane was going to kill them all.

"I'm not waiting for the Batman's return!" the girl spoke out. Bane tilted his head as he looked down at her, curious to hear more of her bravado.

"Any one can be Batman. Any one can stand for something great." she declared, her cheeks still red as the humiliating laughter continued. Bane raised a hand and the crowd fell silent once more. He leaned over her so that their faces could be closer. He could see his own horrid reflection in her wide eyes.

"Do you know what I did to your righteous Batman, girl? I broke his body across my knee and left him to suffer and die in a hole. What do you imagine… I could do to you?"

He watched as her jaw clenched up in terror and her eyes glistened. He stood up straight once more and addressed the crowd. His voice boomed across the hall.

"All people with sympathies for the Batman will be brought to Court! Those that idol the Batman wish to resurrect old Gotham. Do you wish to return to tyranny?" the crowd shouted an objection to him. "Do you wish to return to _oppression_?" another united shout from the crowd. "Then take down these people who wish to abolish your freedoms!" the crowd cheered at his command. Any excuse to shed more blood drove them into a frenzy.

"Shall the verdict be death?" Jonathan Crane questioned from his mountain.

Bane looked up at him and then back down to the girl.

"No… she shall be made an example of in a different manner."

* * *

A/N: Ok, so I wanted to give Bane a real name but even in the comics you never find out his first name. His father's name is Edmund Dorrance, so I'm just going to say that Bane was named after his father. Also, another thing from the comics... _Osito _(spanish for _little bear_) was Bane's toy when he was a child. Osito had a hole in him and that's where Bane would hide his shiv because that's how badass he is.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Batman or any characters created by Bob Kane or Chuck Dixon. This story is based off the trilogy by Christopher Nolan with tidbits of the comics laced in.

A/N: Thank you so much for the reviews! I'm glad you're enjoying it and feel free to continue showing support! I know this chapter is short but parts of chapter 3 are all ready written so hopefully I'll finish quickly. Anyways, cheers!

* * *

**Bane**

After it had been whispered in his ear the true identity of the Batman, Bane researched the man's entire life. His childhood, the death of his parents, the schools he went to, his years of disappearance, girlfriends, and the caretaker named Alfred Pennyworth. He collected newspaper articles written about the Batman and criminals he had faced. Through faithful insiders, he gained access to the criminal records of the men he incarcerated. He wanted to know his enemies, his friends, his work, how he fought, and how he thought. To say the least, Bane's interest was obsessive.

Unbeknownst to the Batman, Bane had come to know him from the shadows. There were certain things that even made him feel as if he had a kinship towards the dark crusader.

_"No one cared who I was, until I put the mask on."_

He had hoped that Wayne would have kin, but the man had no children and no spouse. The closest thing to family he had was the old caretaker. Unfortunately, Bane's informants claim that the old man was off in Florence. Wayne made sure not to get too close to a single person. A wise man. Bane would have to settle for something less. Something unpolished, rough, and crude…

Bane pondered to himself, _And the catalyst to this all came from the pout of beautiful lips._

He travelled to the outskirts of Gotham. To an exquisite manor that sat perched on a hill, overlooking the entire city. It was the first time he had the fortune to behold it with his own eyes, but Bane knew this place well. Once again, his knowledge came from numerous pictures and newspaper clippings. All about the prestigious family that had once resided inside and the parties that held all the grandeur of fairy tale balls. Now, it reeked of gloom and loneliness.

The once beautiful oak doors of Wayne Manor were left in mere splinters after Bane kicked through them. He kicked aside a piece of wood before allowing himself to pause and analyze the splendor of Bruce Wayne's home. Alas, the inside was as gloomy as the outside. All of the furniture was covered in white cloth. A thin layer of dust was beginning to settle over the place. It was a house that belonged to the dead. Only a shadow of it's former majesty. Withering away, waiting for the day of collapse… just like it's owner.

"You always lacked the finesse for a quiet entry."

The soft voice from the shadows did not cause him any surprise. But as the figure came into the center of the room, the normal calmness that exuded him suddenly vanished. He felt his heart rate rise. She lowered her black hood to reveal her mop of chestnut curls. Her eyes were large and beautiful but were darkened by her mood. He had not seen her in person for quite a long time. She seemed painfully indifferent to their reunion.

"Where is it now?" Talia regarded him cooly.

Seeing her again was bittersweet. He had craved her presence for a long time… but he knew what she had done. He knew what occurred in this house between her and Bruce Wayne. Requesting him to meet her here added even further insult. When he looked into her eyes, its sharpness was matched with every edge. She was the only one daring enough to hold his gaze like so.

"It is being constantly transported through the city." Bane finally conceded. "There are three military cargo vans. Every day, a random selection is made on which one will carry it and what route it will take."

Talia nodded. She was still in her Miranda Tate costume beneath her robe. He spotted the expensive heels and sheer stockings as she stepped towards a table.

"You've done well." she whispered as she pulled back the protective white linen. It revealed a menagerie of photographs. The cloth dropped from her grasp as her fingers touched lightly on the frames.

"That Gordon has been sniffing around, attempting to find its whereabouts. Be on alert for him and his dogs."

Bane remained silent as she stopped at a particular photo. An attractive, dark haired woman smiled up at Talia. Bane knew her face. Childhood friend of Bruce Wayne, Assistant District Attorney, girlfriend to the good man-turned psychotic Harvey Dent… Rachel Dawes. Bane watched as Talia picked up the photo.

Only a woman who held a great level of adoration in Bruce Wayne's eyes would have been able to be framed beside his parents. She died and then the Batman disappeared for eight years. He was indeed a man full of loss and suffering… The woman he loved died before she was even his. That was the worst time of love. Unrequited. He was spared the misery of that continuous rejection.

Bane's eyes traveled up to gaze at Talia's profile. Her eyes were cold as she looked upon the photograph of the other woman. Even from where he stood, he could feel her icy jealousy. It made a muscle spasm on his neck in annoyance. Sensing his prying eyes, she turned her head his way,

"Is Bruce still alive?" she requested in a dull voice. Bane felt his blood boil at the mention of the man's name. His response contained only a curt nod.

"Remember, I am the one that will kill him. I am the one who must avenge my father's death." came her sordid declaration.

"Your father's death." Bane drawled back at her.

Talia's eyes flashed as she looked up at Bane. The glint held the promise of something dangerous if he dared venture further. For now, he appeased her by holding his tongue. He was irritated by her. She had been lying to him. He felt more detached from her than ever before, his one true companion. Something had changed in her.

"What plagues your thoughts, Bane?" she humored him.

He wished she could look upon his face to see the loathing that resided there. "You allowed Bruce Wayne to use your body." his voice hissed through his mask. Wordlessly, she gently placed the photograph back down and turned to face Bane fully. Her hands placed themselves delicately on her waist.

"And so have _many_ other men. The body is a woman's weapon." her red lips simpered.

Her words knocked around inside of him. Bruising him up. Suddenly he grabbed at her. Firmly holding both arms as she stared up at him in surprise. She did not move. She knew better to physically resist him.

"You would do this to me?" he growled.

"Release me, Bane." Talia ordered.

He dug his fingertips into the soft flesh of her arms. If it hurt her, she did not show it.

"You would betray _me_ and yourself by wantonly walking into other men's beds?" jealousy ran like a tornado within him.

He had her once and only once. After that was when she began to push him away. To not be able to speak his feelings to her, to not be able to be close to her, all these emotions were worse torture than the Pit. He only wanted to be by her side and protect her until death took him. She had been his only friend and she did not seem to be concerned anymore.

"You are the only living thing that I have ever cared for." he felt vulnerable and distressed, how he_ hated it_.

Her eyes were emotionless and her words were like scathing knives, "You know that is not something that interests me. I care only for my father's will. I do not want love nor adoration. I want you to do your _job_."

His grip slackened and gave her the opportunity to push away his hands. He sucked in his pain and suddenly he felt nothing. The love-sorrow was gone behind a wall.

"I knew the girl you were… before your father poisoned you into becoming another Demon devotee."

"I have always been the Demon's daughter. My true self has always been there, Edmund. You just never wished to see it." she wrinkled her nose at him as if he were some petty, weak-minded boy. It made the vein throb in his neck again.

"And… I would not speak so ill of Ra's Al Ghul." came her low-voiced threat.

"Will he rise from the dead and make me pay, my dear?" his eyes glistened darkly as he looked down at her. Her stare in return held the temperature of icebergs.

"I succeeded where your father failed." he proudly gripped his lapels and walked towards the door. "I destroyed the Batman and I have taken the city. I will speak illy of whom I please and if they wish to see me disciplined-" he gave her a last lingering stare. "-I would like to see them try." and then he was gone.

* * *

**Pilar**

_"I didn't do anything wrong! Why are you doing this to me?"_

_"To awaken your consciousness."_

And then she was alone.

Her insides twisted and turned. Fear bubbling like vomit inside of her. She hated this place. It was cold. It made her skin clench tight around her body and shiver. Bane had said it was called The Box. The solitary confinement cell deep in Blackgate Penitentiary. The cell was made of stone and it was not even big enough to lay down in. There was no food… no water. The iron door had a single eyehole that allowed light to leak through. As her eyes began to adjust to the dimness of her holdings, she could see scrapes and scratch marks on the walls. A few had dates and names, divulging who else had been here and for how long. It smelled of mold and filth with a faint scent of iron. There were finger smears of brown, crusted blood everywhere.

This place had madness oozing from the stones.

At first, she cried. She cried and cried as the hopelessness of the situation rattled her soul. She was going to die here. She was going to die alone, uncared for, and abandoned. No one would know she was gone. She had left no mark on this world. She was nobody and nothing.

After the tears, aimless anger erupted. She screamed and screamed. Punched and kicked and scratched and knocked her head against the stone with the frustration that her rage could not be appeased and her violence could only be inflicted upon the environment around her and her own body. Time was unmerciful and she was left with nothing to do but think and think. The only sound she could hear beyond the stone walls was a steady _drip, drip, drip_ of water.

Her punishment was to be cold, uncomfortable, hungry, and thirsty. No one had come after Bane had left her. There may as well been no one left on earth. Her mind tormented her. It went to bad places. Memories of ridicule or self-embarrassment. Maybe her mind hated her. Maybe her mind wanted to remind her of her worthlessness. Whenever these thoughts came, she would knock her head with her palm, her fist, the wall… anything to jumble away those memories and numb her thoughts.

Time went and went until it came to a screeching halt. A sound assaulted her ears. A sound that was not the taunting water or her own whispers. It was the sound of footfalls. Something surged in her chest and Pilar couldn't decide if it was hope or terror. The footsteps became louder and louder until the person was in front of her door, blocking out the small light. An eye suddenly appeared looking in at her. Pilar blinked dumbly at it.

"How do you feel?" she recognized the aristocratic voice of her captor.

"I n-need a drink." she pleaded to him. She had no idea how much time had passed but she knew she had never gone this long without a drink. Her lips hurt and her tongue felt thick and awkward inside her own mouth.

"I'm afraid you misunderstood the question. I did not ask of you what you _needed_." his voiced mocked her through the metal door.

Pilar breathed heavily through her nose as she felt hatred infect her body. If she could, she would stab a knife through the hole and shish kabob Bane's eyeball. But she didn't have a knife. All she had was her fingers and Bane could easily rip those right off her body if she stuck any one of them through that hole.

"I feel angry." came her throaty reply.

And she _was_. She felt anger like she had never felt before. Stewing, bubbling, and rotting within her. Angry towards her mother, angry towards her brothers, angry towards all of her old classmates. Angry that all of them wanted nothing to do with her. Angry that this was where life had taken her… Everything she had known was in pieces and she was left in the hands of the madman who had been the cause of it all.

Her eyes were shut but she could still feel Bane's gaze upon her. His quietness sent spasms of anxiety through her.

"Good."

She opened her eyes in disbelief as the metal door was opened. Bane grabbed her by the front of her shirt and dragged her out. Pilar's eyes burned as she came out into the light. Bane threw her to his feet and when she attempted to get back up, a heavy boot planted itself on her shoulder, effectively keeping her in a kneeling position. Pilar clenched her jaw as she looked up at him. He stood with a regal air with his hands on his lapels. She felt like a filthy servant beneath him.

"You've inflicted pain upon yourself." came his amused voice.

He looked at her body with interest. The raw and peeling knuckles. The blooming bruises on her face. The cuts on her forehead… His inspection made a sick bubble rise in Pilar's stomach, causing her eyes to drop to the dirty floor.

"Instead of conserving your energy and making sure your body does not go to waste, you acted like a spoilt child who was having a tantrum…" Bane sighed, a strange warbling sound from his mask. "How disappointing… You are _weak_. I thought to find more constitution in you. Even now, you have given up. You are afraid. In your mind, you have all ready condemned yourself to death."

Pilar felt a pain in her jaw and realized she had been grinding her teeth. She had not felt anger in so long. She had not felt _anything_ in so long… Except fear.

"I have no reason to be here. I never even graffitied the wall." she said in a low voice.

"Misery shows no mercy, even to whining children. In truth, I hold no concern over the symbols across the city. The Batman is not coming back.. I assure you. _No_, it is the words that you spoke at Court that were dangerous."

"Because they were true?"

She looked up at him and saw the large man's eyes glisten with something unknown to her.

"Indeed." he responded.

The boot suddenly shoved her backward and before she could lift a finger, it laid threatening atop her throat. Terror caused her to become immobile. She looked up at him and the only place she could look was his eyes. She hated them. They leered down at her without emotion. Without any humanity. She was a mouse beneath his boot.

"Are you alone in this world, girl?" his voice was more subdued than normal. Only a faint whisper coming from his mask. A steady pressure began pushing against her throat.

Her hands shot up in an attempt to heave the boot off but to no avail. Her windpipe was struggling beneath the weight. Her breathing becoming only pitiful rasps. She could feel her heart pounding in her ears.

"Is there no one to care for you and, in turn, no one for _you_ to care for?"

She couldn't understand why he was asking this of her. Her brain was firing with the primeval need to survive. She just wanted to live. Her legs clamped together in a steel trap as she felt her bladder spasm.

She answered truthfully with a croaked, "Yes." . There was no one for her. No one who cared if she ever made it out of this alive. No one for her to live for to return to. She had nothing and no one.

"Are you afraid?" he growled.

"Yes!"

The boot was suddenly gone and he was crouching. Tottering on the balls of his feet beside her. Adrenaline and fear still coursed through her. It made her body tingle and her stomach lurch. As she propped herself up on her elbows, her head became dizzy as well. She caught his gaze and was surprised to discover that the man's eye's were actually hazel. She had never seen a person with such dark hue. The intensity in them often made them appear black.

"One day, you will be thankful that you have no one. You will never feel fear again. You will know only strength… and one day, you will embrace your suffering and come to love it as all men do. Are you tired of being afraid, girl?"

She did not want to be afraid of anything anymore. Of the people running rampant in the city, of the future, of _him_. Slowly, Pilar nodded.

"Do you wish do be something great?"

She was going to do something about the things she feared. She was going to right the city. She was going to take charge of her future. She was going to make Bane pay… for all of what he's done. Again, she nodded in response.

Something ominous emanated from Bane as he stared down at her. A low, rolling laugh came from his chest.

"You have much more pain to endure, much to lose, and many more things to _realize_."


	3. Chapter 3

******Disclaimer:** I do not own Batman or any characters created by Bob Kane or Chuck Dixon. This story is based off the trilogy by Christopher Nolan with tidbits of the comics laced in.**  
**

A/N: Thanks to all the reviewers and people who have favorites the story. Bear with me! I know it takes me forever to update and I'm sorry. I pretty much write every chapter multiple times and just end up tearing them down and reconstructing them over and over again. But anyways, enjoy this long chapter!

* * *

**Pilar**

The bile burned her throat. Popping up slowly from her stomach and onto the pavement. A string of saliva clung to her lip as she moaned and held her mid-section. She couldn't handle it anymore.

"You are not putting your strength into your abdomen as I told you. You must make your body resistant and hard."

She wiped the saliva away before looking up at her captor. The usual coat was discarded this day. Leaving him with only his vest and tactical amy pants and boots. The same boots that had been walking across her stomach these past five minutes. His weight had literally been crushing the organs inside of her. She felt nauseated and weak.

"I'm trying. You're too… big." she croaked out.

The vest made his muscles visible. Every pound weighing on his body which she felt as he would step on her.

"Nonsense. Again."

With the tip of his boot, he pushed her onto her back once more.

"This time, strengthen your core. Protect your body."

She closed her eyes and breathed out. Tightening the muscles in her abdomen. Imagining them to solidify into a wall. His walk was heavy. The ground trembled and with each thump she had a knot thicken in her throat. She felt the pressure on his boot as he walked over her. For the first time, she felt his boot upon her and then it was gone. Leaving no pain in its wake. Satisfaction ran through her… only to be broken when he turned around and stepped over her again. She had lost her concentration. She could feel the boot sink into her abdomen. Her body lurched and her stomach spasmed. Again, she rolled over to heave up the contents of her stomach but only acid came up.

The saliva and clear bile stuck to her lower lip and chin.

"Still abysmal but better than before." she looked up at him as he gripped the straps of his vest.

This had been her life these past two weeks. Solitary confinement, hunger, and training with Bane. She had learned to stop asking why. Either his answers were vague or he didn't answer her at all. Only punished her. She stopped asking for food. He fed her only when he deemed was the right time. Sometimes that would be once a day… or he would skip two days and feed her on the third.

She despised it all. She felt like an animal. Completely helpless to his every whim. When she had been at home she could at least pretend she had control. Create her own little functioning world in the middle of Bane's chaotic Gotham. She couldn't pretend now. Everything was his now. Her _life_ was his.

She flinched as he bent over her, but all he did was grab her by the shirt. He pulled Pilar up to her feet and stared shrewdly at her.

"You resign yourself because you are intimidated by my size. One does not have to be big, as you say, in order to inflict pain. All you need to know is the way of the body." she remained tight lipped as she held his stare.

His eyes travelled downward. He reached out to her hand that clutched her stomach. He brought their hands up to face level and pressed his palm against hers. It was comical but mostly frightening to see them together. His hand dwarfed her own. He had a wide palm and thick fingers that you find on most muscular men. Meanwhile, her palm was narrow and sprouted long, slender fingers. The skin on his hand was rough but his touch was soft. It made something curdle in her stomach and leer at him with suspicion.

"Astonishing what even the slightest touches can do…"

His thumb went to the base of her middle finger. Slowly, pressure was added. Pilar's eyes widened as they danced between their hands and Bane's stare. He watched her reactions as she tried to pull away her hand. The finger was bending back and back and back some more. She began to huff and whimper in pain as the finger began to bend unnaturally.

She tried not to think of broken bones, bones cracking, ripped tendons, torn and bruised skin. She clenched her teeth tight enough to cause an ache in her jaw. Her legs were shaking as she frantically tried to pull her arm away. The weak knees finally gave way as she dropped to the floor and pleaded him to stop.

"Begging will never make me stop." came his low voice.

She couldn't stand looking at the finger as it bent further back. Her eyelids clamped tight together as she attempted to escape the vision. Immediately, she felt his other hand on her jaw. The fingers dug into her clammy skin causing her eyes to pop open once more.

"Do not fly away, little girl. Feel your pain." his voice rumbled through his mask.

A desperate growl ripped through her throat in response. She didn't want to look at it. She didn't want to see it pop. Snapping, cracking, limp, broken. She could only look into the abyss of Bane's eyes as the pain began to make her light headed.

She begged once more, "Please."

Bane blinked. Slowly, languidly. His eyes bore into her own. Deeper and deeper, making her panic. She heard the crunch. She felt the explosion of pain. She screamed.

He released her and she cradled her hand. Sobbing, shaking, sweating. She peaked at the wounded finger. Swelling was starting all ready at the knuckle. The finger itself was resting in an awkward angle. The sight of it made her sick and she cried out again.

"Why do you cry? Tears are only the implements of children. Will tears save you? Will tears help you survive?" she could feel his dark presence looming over her body.

She knew him to be right and hated him for it. Crying helped nothing. It did not make the pain go away and just made her feel more ill.

"I cry because it hurts." she snapped back.

"Of course it hurts… the trick is not minding it."

She looked up at him then. The shameful streams of tears dripping from her face.

"Thoughts amplify pain. Your self-pity with whining about the pain also adds in. All that you are doing is senseless. In order to withstand pain, you must face it… not drift off somewhere else. You must not think about where the pain is leading and what may happen. You must be still and live presently within your body. Experience your feelings, do not shun them. That is when you will feel pain, see that it is there, and not mind it." he advised.

She swam in his eyes, breathing slower and steadier. Soon, the pain that had once been as sharp as a blade dulled to a throbbing. He held his hand out to her. Slowly, she extended her arm and placed her injured hand in his. She continued her breathing exercise until her arm was reduced to only a slight tremble.

"Good."

His hand closed over hers and another wave of pain flowed through her body as he jammed the finger back in its place. Knowing his eyes to be on her, she made sure not to cry out. Only a strangled whimper escaped her as she bit down on her lip. His hand withdrew from hers and returned to his vest strap.

"Back to the Box." he rang in a jovial tone.

* * *

**Bane**

He closed the door and allowed the shadows to take her.

He had took to occupying a cell down the block from hers. A normal room with a mattress, sink, and toilet. There at night he would lie awake and listen. He use to be able to hear her screaming and crying… but not anymore. There was only silence these days. Her fear is transforming into anger. Her anger will soon turn to hate.

She is a stranger to pain. Frail. Her nerves are made of glass. The society that bore her was saturated in despising laziness. She has not lived a wealthy nor luxurious life, but she has lived a life of non-violence. She was raised in world foreign to him.

This place, these people… It all disgusted Bane. They control the weak through fear, violence, and mind-control. Though no one is strapped to a chair pleading for their sanity. They succumb willingly. They click a button on their remote and it is all there on the television. Brainwashed into believing that ignorance, sheer stupidity, and gluttony is something to be put onto a pedestal. There is nothing real is this city of steel, lights, and beauty. Lives revolve around the media.

Some could argue that he was guilty of controlling through fear, violence, and mind-control as well. He would only say… Liberation from the oppressors requires playing their own wicked game. In truth, there was no liberation. He did not care about revolution or these people. Soon, Gotham will be in ashes. All of these people and their starvation of civility will be gone.

But, there was still much time before that would happen. In the meantime, he worked strictly with the girl. He has been trying to harden her. Only now did it finally appear to be working.

She will be as cold and ruthless as one can become. Gotham will turn to cinders. Then he will bring her to the Batman. A perfect representation of the good and innocence that he fought so hard to defend. She will be tainted and twisted by Bane's hand. The Batman will know all that he valued has been for naught… the last torment on his soul and then he will die.

No matter what Talia said, the Batman will be his. It was Bane who took the city. It was Bane who broke the back. And it will be Bane who ends his life.

His hand slipped underneath the pillow and brought out Osito. Rubbing his thumb against the fabric as he thought of the bear's old owner. Their last encounter left a bad taste in his mouth. Her coldness could be bearable but her scorn… That was another thing entirely.

_"And so have many other men. The body is a woman's weapon."_

Her sweet voice seeped through the crevices of his brain. Poisoning it. Unconsciously, his fingers bit into the bear.

She will be reluctant to keep him around after Gotham. He had hinted to her that he discovered Ra's Al Ghul's secret. Did they truly believe that he would not? Ra's Al Ghul never dies. Bane was wise enough to not speak openly about it. The last thing he needed was the Demon to turn up in Gotham to claim his head. By far, he was the only man to defeat Bane in combat. Which was during his excommunication…

Ra's Al Ghul felt Bane was a threat to the League… because he would not give his life to the Demon. He was also infecting the Demon's princess. That was back when she still had true emotions. Back when she still called him her protector…

Bane pushed Osito back under the pillow, tired of the surliness that the bear brought. He laid in silence, gazing up into the darkened ceiling before annoyance settled into his stomach.

"What do you want?" his voice rang out.

"Hmm, the devil's voice is sweat to hear." Bane could almost hear him smiling.

From the hallway stepped Jonathan Crane. He had taken such care to pad the soles of his shoes. But, his breathing was untrained. Raspy, excited. Bane could hear him from around the corner. He understood that Crane had taken a massive dose of toxin. Some people can embrace their fear, and others go mad by it. The doctor, unfortunately, was one of them. Bane did not feel comfort in having this man slithering around the Blackgate halls.

There was hardly a point in expressing his irritation. Crane should know on his own that he best have a good reason to disturb Bane in his solitude. Crane's crystal eyes glistened as they watched Bane sit up from the cot and gave him a gesture to speak.

"There is a… person who should be a concern of yours."

"No man concerns me." Bane gnawed back.

"Ah, this is no man… But a clown."

* * *

**Pilar**

Sleep would not take her. Not yet.

Her brain buzzed as she listened to nothing. The drip of the water and the echoes of her thoughts.

Her back was against the wall. Her legs crossed and injured hand resting in her lap. Her finger moved fine, just like the rest. Albeit, very sore but normal. She thought of today's interactions. The words that were exchanged.

_"Why do you cry?"_

Pilar closed her heavy eyelids as her father's voice floated over Bane's.

_"There's no need to cry, Pilar."_

But was it really her father's voice, or only what she thought it to be? She couldn't remember anymore. It scared her. She could remember the way he use to say her name and she clung to the sound. She could forget her brothers. She could forget her mother. But to forget her father sent terror through her.

All that was good in her came from her father. He was her guide, her teacher, her protector, and her comfort. Her mother made her feel like an outsider. Like a stranger in her own house. Her brothers followed by example. She would find her father and he didn't need to say anything at all and she would feel at home again. She was never worthless when she was around him.

What about now? She was worthless again. With no home. No love. No comfort. She was nameless. It had felt forever since someone had spoken to her and called her by name. Such a simple, simple thing to make someone feel like an actual human being. It made her feel empty and without hope.

Was there any hope at all in this? The most she could deduce was that Bane was training her for something. Counseling her as one would an apprentice. To what gain though? There was no hope. Here, in the Box, in Blackgate, in Gotham, in the world, in the universe… She was small and nameless and could not change a thing. Pilar closed her eyes and sent out a silent prayer.

_Don't let me die. Not before I make Bane pay… for what he's done to my home, my family, and to innocent people. Don't let me die._

Hunger clawed at her stomach, silencing her prayer. She thought back on to why she was even in this cold place.

"Consciousness." she muttered bitterly.

What did that even mean? To awaken one's consciousness? How was she supposed to do what he wanted when she had no idea what it meant?

Frustrated, she rested her cheek against the cool stone wall and attempted sleep. She rested her cheek against the cool stone wall and attempted sleep. If she was lucky, she would be able to sleep for an hour or two before waking up with stiff legs or a sore back. She would have to shift herself and fall asleep once again, only to be woken again by the same discomfort soon after. Nonetheless, she was thankful. Sleep was an escape. Though she did not dream anymore, the darkness was much more preferable to reality.

"Girl."

The voice beckoned her from the darkness. Pilar blinked and saw the door open. Her head felt heavy. Her brain felt like it was suffocating. Slowly, she crawled out. Bane grabbed her by the arm and hoisted her up. She swayed a little. Bane cured her drowsiness with a slap. She held her stinging cheek as she glowered at him.

He donned his leather trench coat today. The one with the high neck and wool inside. The leather that had been worn down from years of use. It was a smelly old coat but it was a favorite of his. Pilar despised the smell of sweat that came off it.

"Follow." he commanded.

Pilar trailed quietly behind him. Out from the bowels of Blackgate and into the streets above. She paused momentarily to breathe in the air. She had wanted it to taste like freedom, sweet and crisp. Instead, she smelled garbage, urine, and the scent of something burning in the distance. Even the weather was a disappointment. Thick, gray clouds covered the sky. The sun was hiding and left the city in gloom.

Suddenly a heavy hand laid on her shoulder. Alarmed, she looked up at Bane. He stared carelessly down at her.

"If you try to run, I will not kill you." He assured. "Only snap the legs off from your body."

He let the threat hang in the cool air as he made his way down the cracked sidewalk, his coat swaying with each step he took. Her own feet remained planted to the concrete. Her eyes twitched around the street. A few civilians walking by and one armed Revolutionist. He would shoot her down at Bane's command. She would surely die if she attempted escape.

"Good dogs follow their master." she heard Bane call from afar.

She spied him down the street. He stood at the corner with his arms crossed over his large chest. Watching her, waiting for her.

She was 5'8 and he stood much taller than her. He was heavier but his legs were still longer. He was in better shape and definitely had more stamina. She had no doubt that Bane would be able to chase her down.

Pilar swallowed the dry knot in her throat and walked obediently in Bane's direction. As she took her place at his side, the man chuckled. A deep, warbling sound that Pilar had come to hate. When he laughed, his eyes didn't laugh with him. It was only an eerie disembodied noise. She stared darkly up at him from beneath her brows.

They walked together. They walked for what felt like forever. There was no public transportation after all. No person wanted to run the subways or drive buses and taxies willingly and without pay. There were no police officers, no firemen… and no garbage men. The streets were filled with filth. It's disgusting to see how much waste a city churns out in a few months. Some areas were worse than others. At times, Pilar would have to breathe through her mouth only to gag when she realized she could taste the smell.

There were many people as well. Though, as soon as Bane was sighted, most would flee. Quickly run into a store or home or turn around and walk the other way. Pilar wondered if she opened her mouth and screamed out for them _"Help me! Please help me! Somebody!" _would anybody answer? She knew the truth without needing to try.

Bane's arm suddenly crossed in front of her body. A silent signal to stop walking. He was staring at a shop to their right. It was an old chinese take out. In the apartment above, shouting could be heard through the windows.

A body crashed through the window. Before Pilar could even exhale a breath, Bane grabbed her by the arm and tossed her out of the way. She tumbled along the concrete and heard the body hit the sidewalk. She lifted her head and saw a man in the spot where she had just been. The ground was filled with shards of glass. The man obviously was trying to escape something, but as the sight of Bane, the grown man cried and begged for mercy.

"Sir!"

Revolutionists rushed out of the shop, dragging a crying family behind them.

"We were taking him to the Court." a young man stated.

Bane looked at Pilar and gestured for her to come to him. She did, all the while staring down at the sobbing man. She knew him. He was a man on TV. The man had grown out his hair and beard but was still recognizable.

"Do you know this man?" Bane asked her.

The man's pale green eyes looked up at her. They pleaded to her. Begged her to keep the truth to herself. She remembered that her mother loved his show. Loved to watch him spit at people, belittle them, verbally attack them in the excuse of a political argument. Her father hated the show. Hated seeing people be bullied on national television. The man looked pitiful now. Harmless. His once exquisite suit was in shambles. He was not a powerful man anymore. He was the one being bullied now… and he deserved it.

"Bill Wesley. He had a TV show."

Whatever hope there was in his eyes was drained out. For a moment, Pilar felt guilt but then Wesley's face pinched in anger as he looked up at her. His eyes became watery. "You… You bitch! You've killed me!" he snarled. Pilar's mouth turned into a deep frown. She pitied him.

"You've killed yourself." she responded softly.

"Bob, you were going to leave us!" the gangly blonde woman screeched at her betraying husband. Wesley finally seemed to realize that his wife and son were being held by Revolutionists as well. He screamed at her to shut up and to quit crying.

Pilar looked to Bane. She saw his fingers twitch. Scissoring against one another impatiently. She knew what that meant. They only did that when he itched for violence.

"Save this one until tomorrow." Bane ordered as two Revolutionists grabbed either of Wesley's arms.

"No, please!" the man pleaded.

They dragged him away. The son and wife wailed. Bane walked away, pulling Pilar's arm as he went. She continued looking over her shoulder at the torn family. Bane gave her arm a tug and she resumed looking forward once more.

"Do you believe… that there are people in this world who deserve to die?" Bane asked as they walked.

"No." she responded automatically. "All life is sacred."

"Sacred." came his amused drawl. He gazed up at a billboard that advertised a reality TV show about underage girls getting pregnant.

"Are you sure that every life is sacred? Are you _sure_ that every life valuable? From what I see, people do not care enough to even have dignity anymore. They are not sacred and certainly not valuable. They are simply _there_. Contaminating the world with their idiocracies. Do you even enjoy sharing your life with these types of people?" he stared pointedly at the poster.

She hated them. She hated them all. She wished all the stupid people in the world screaming about their lives and scratching at each other to get 10 minutes of fame on television would just be flushed down the fucking toilet. She knew that the world would be better without them but still…

"I don't have to like a person in order to tolerate their existence. They don't need to die because they annoy me."

Bane shook his head at her. She couldn't tell if it was from disgust or disappointment. For the rest of the walk, Pilar kept her eyes to the ground. Ignoring the world around her. Bane led her through the streets, avoiding all of the pot holes and crevices caused by the explosions. After awhile, her legs grew stiff and tired. She felt weak. She needed to eat but knew what would happen if she voiced a complaint about hunger.

"Where are we going?" she finally questioned.

Bane stopped walking. Her brows came together in confusion as she looked up to see a place she recognized only from pictures on the TV or newspaper. It was an old structure, covered in ivy. Arkham Asylum stood without warmth. Towering and menacing. Bane pushed open the iron gate. Together they walked across the entrance lawn. It was overgrown with foliage. The place had been turned over to nature. A man came to meet them at the front door. Pale and thin, with a poor excuse for a beard on his cheeks. He wore military gear and carried a rifle. It was one of Bane's mercenaries.

He gave a twitchy nod to Bane and eyed Pilar warily.

There was something about the man Pilar didn't like. His eyes were chips of shocking blue. They lacked any trace of friendliness. She felt relief when those eyes finally left her and he led them into the building.

The inside was dark and abandoned. Their footsteps echoed in the long hallway. She didn't like this place. It smelled… odd. There was a certain feeling too. She couldn't decide what it was… but she felt unwelcome in this large place. Every room they walked passed looked as bleak and desolate as the rest. They were rooms belonging to mad men. The desertion of the facility had left papers strewn everywhere. She gave them quick looks as she stepped over them. Patient profiles. Collections of photos and newspaper clippings. Even a few drawings that had been done by inmates. The subjects of the drawings were creepy enough to make the hair on the back of her neck prickle.

"He's back into the old room, sir. We had to tase him with a rather high voltage to subdue him. For now, he's wearing a straight jacket but we should definitely put him in a more confining room soon. He has a way of escaping and… convincing others to help him escape."

A low rumble came from Bane's mask in reply. They turned a corner and came upon two swinging doors. Pilar could see a light flickering from inside.

"Wait here." Bane ordered the man. He nodded at Pilar to come along.

"Err, sir, I would not advise-" a mere look from Bane was all it took to silence the man.

Bane stepped towards the doors and paused to look down at Pilar.

"Stay by my side. If he speaks to you, do not reply under any circumstances. Do not approach him and do not stare at his scars… Lest you wish to be bored by a fictitious tale." Bane advised in a dull tone before pushing open the doors. They swung to and fro before settling into a closed position.

The knot in her throat returned. She looked over her shoulder at the other man. His face was slick with sweat. Those cold eyes stared at her. They were as unpleasant as Bane's yet… The broken vessels in the whites of his eyes made him look a hostile madman. His lips turned into a tiny smile as he stared at her. She turned her back to him and faced the ominous doors. Bane walked in without fear… and so will she. Pilar stepped forward and slowly pushed open the doors.

It was silent. She heard the audible breathing from Bane's mask and the buzzing of the lights over head but nothing else. Bane stood facing a dark cell. The light only reached just up to the bars, the rest was cast in darkness. In trepidation, she came up to his side. She could see nothing but noticed Bane's eyes flick around following a shadow in the dark. He knew the shadows. He has said before that he was born in them.

"I am graced graced by, _Baneee. _The, _uh-heh_, liberator of Goth_ammm_. I'm humbled."

She felt her heart quicken at the sound of the bodiless voice. It was nasally and drawling. It was a voice she remembered from when she was young. During a time of terror eight years ago. She remembered seeing his face on the TV. She cringed as a wild laugh burst from the cell and echoed through the hall. A horrible uncontrollable giggle.

"I am here to escort you to your new residence." Bane's voice boomed over the laughter.

Silence returned and Pilar saw a shape approach the bars. He was not how she remembered. For one, he wore no make up. His skin was pale and sickly looking from his incarceration. His hair had grown long and turned a dark brown from the grease and matting. The rims around his eyes were tinged an angry red. Dark, bottomless eyes latched on to Bane, taking in his size. The straight jacket he wore was slathered in saliva and dirt. Most likely from him rolling around and gnawing at the straps.

Lazily, he rested his chin on one of the prison bars. Pilar tried to do as Bane said and not stare at the scars that bloomed from the corners of his mouth.

"You've been a cruel _man-uhh_, Mr. Bane. You set Goth_amm_ into such a perfect world. _My world_. A world, _uh-heh_, of chaos. Liberating every person but _me_. Denying me from being a part of it. _THAT'S NOT VERY NICE_!"

The last sentence was growled in such ferocity that Pilar stepped back as his voice assaulted her ears. _Nice, nice, nice_ echoed through the hall before dying into silence. As quick as his rage was to appear, it was gone again. Her movement caused his attention to be on her. A wide smile spread onto his face. Showing her his yellow teeth and twisting his scars.

"I much prefer you in here." came Bane's amused ridden response as he held the lapels of his leather jacket.

The Joker lifted his eyebrows and slowly moved his stare back to Bane. The mad smile perishing as he did so.

"I wouldn't cause too much trouble for you." he scrunched his nose at Bane. "They say the Batman has disappeared again. There's only one way he would leave Gotham with you still around, and that would be in a coffin." the man's face turned blank. His eyes were like two black marbles. "Did you kill the _Batmannnn_?"

"You don't just kill the Batman. You strip him down to bones and then… then he dies."

The Joker through his head back and laughed.

"You don't understand his _naturrrrrre_. Wherever he is, whatever you've done with him… He'll come back. The Batman can't be killed." a tongue darted out to lick a scar on his bottom lip. "And I won't let him be killed. A world with the Batman is so much more, _uh-heh_, entertaining. Me and him will dance as foes until the end of _timmme_. I am the yin to his yang. Mr. Bane, you are just a gorilla that has come swinging his arms into my city." The Joker bit down on his bottom lip to keep back his giggle.

Bane was less than amused. His brows cast deep shadows around his eyes.

"So tweets the bird from its cage. I sincerely apologize coming between the two lovers, but the Batman is finished as is Gotham."

"Ahhh, yes, the _bombbbbb_. The trigger for which you've given to an 'ordinary citizen'." the Joker howled with laughter. "Us criminally insane know each others tricks."

His eyes went to Pilar, "We know all the _lies_. I always kept the doom trigger in a safe place, _yes_. But always close. Are a _boy_?" he spoke directly to her. "Mmm, from your scowl I will say that you are in fact a girl. He has it near him, little He-She. Mark my words." his eyes switched over to Bane. "You _really_ do have a taste for harboring young girls, don't you?" he laughed again.

Bane moved so fast that it alarmed her. His large hands gripped the bars of the cell door. The Joker backed away into the darkness, but his howling laughter only got louder as the metal from the door moaned. Bane gave a tug and the door came off its hinges. He strode into the cell and moments later the Joker flew out and collided with the concrete wall. Pilar backed herself into a corner as Bane stepped back out into the hallway. He bent over and grasped the front of The Joker's straight jacket. The man's laugh had gone hysterical.

"You, _hehehehe_, you think I didn't know? _Hehehehehe_! A bird in its cage, _hehehe-HAHA_, has its free friends outside! Hehehehe! I know! I_ know_!" The Joker spat at Bane. The gob slid down his mask.

Bane's right arm became a flurry of punches. In the ribs, the kidneys, the face. Pilar slid to the ground. Screams interrupted the laugh as the sound of bones breaking could be heard. Teeth flew. Flesh ripped. There was such ferocity and rage behind Bane's assault that it frightened Pilar causing her to cover her face with her hands. Soon, the laughter died. In its place was unintelligible sounds coming from the Joker's torn mouth. His nose was crooked, as was his jaw. A piece of skin on his chin flapped open to reveal bloody bone beneath. A steady flow of blood came from his scalp, running over his swelling eye.

Pilar trembled as she stood up and came closer. The Joker's eyes were rolling around in his head. A bubble of blood popped on his lips. She felt that he looked rather sad. The terrorist that plagued them reduced to only a beaten sack of meat. The sight of his grisly beating made her feel sick but she did not feel pity. Bane's voice rang through her head.

_"Do you believe… that there are people in this world who deserve to die?"_

She frowned sadly. She thought he did deserve to die. After what he did, after all the people that he hurt… Yes, The Joker deserved death. But that same principle does not hold true for all people.

She took another step and faltered as she felt something beneath her sneaker. A tooth. It was a tooth she stepped on. She picked it up and held it in her palm. Cracked, bloody, and yellow. She could feel Bane watching her. She raised her eyes to meet his. They were green at this moment. With fire around his iris. His cheeks were red from the adrenaline that had recently rushed through him and seemed more squeezed by his mask. Again, she could not tell what he was thinking or what he was feeling. She blinked and looked again at the tooth in her hand.

The Joker could be reduced to nothing. So could Bane one day.

She pocketed the tooth as a souvenir to remind her and silently watched as Bane grabbed the Joker by the scruff of the straight jacket. The man's head rolled so that his chin touched his chest. Blood slipped from between his lips and onto the straight jacket as Bane dragged him down the hall towards his new holdings.


	4. Chapter 4

******Disclaimer:** I do not own Batman or any characters created by Bob Kane or Chuck Dixon. This story is based off the trilogy by Christopher Nolan with tidbits of the comics laced in.**  
**

A/N: Thank you to those who are putting this story on your Favorites or Alerts! Your support means everything! Thank you as well for putting up with my slow updating. I don't always have the free time to write, but I'm always thinking about the story and characters.

* * *

**Pilar**

Winter had arrived. Before the first snowflake fell, she could taste it in the air. Crisp, stinging, harsh air. The world felt barren. Devoid of anything worth something. A time of slow, choking death while living in hope for the new spring.

As was Gotham. Struggling to survive in hope that something will happen. Batman or the army will come and save them. Maybe the police will break free and fight off the Revolutionists. Maybe. Hopefully.

Pilar closed her eyes as a snowflake landed on her forehead.

She knew. Batman was gone. The police were trapped in the sewers. The army was at a standstill. No one is going to save Gotham.

Solitude followed her. The Box made her feel small and weak. Shivering and alone. So alone. Standing on the street, she felt the same way. Walls closing in on all sides. Alone in the concrete wilderness overgrown with garbage and filth.

She opened her eyes at the sound of wings flapping. Crows were clamoring over the body of an emaciated kitten. It was still dying as they began plucking the hair and tearing the flesh with their sharp beaks. One stopped and stared at her. Its eye as dark and oily as its feathers. In the odd stillness of winter, they stared at one another.

A gunshot went off nearby, shattering through the cold air. Pilar knew what it was and knew what it meant. Apparently, so did the crow. It turned from her and flew off, leaving its brothers behind. It knew where the real feast for crows was.

Words swam in her head. A nasally voice and a snickering laugh taunted her. Forming up questions that went around in circles going nowhere but always ended with the word… Where? The Joker said that it had all been a lie. That the trigger was actually close to Bane or someone he trusted. But where? He valued no one. Trusted no one. So the trigger would have to be somewhere easily accessible to him.

Heavy footsteps slapped against the pavement, but that did not disturb the crows from their meager meal. They weren't afraid of people anymore.

"Ah, it sounds like someone just decided death by execution."

The voice that she dreaded. The voice that crawled beneath her scalp and into her brain. Making it worm around with anger. She wished she was braver. She wished she was stronger. She wished she could act out her fantasies and escape. Run away… but to where? To home? Only mice waited for her to return. The thought of home didn't fill her with longing as it once had. There was nothing for her there. There was nothing for her anywhere. She was beginning to feel as empty as winter.

"Why didn't you kill the Joker?" her scratchy voice hung in the air. Bane's eyes flickered from her and then to the crows at the curb of the sidewalk.

"So, you _do_ believe that there are people who deserve to die?" his tone was rich with malice and amusement.

She said nothing. Only imagined the crows plucking out his eyes with their black beaks.

"The Joker does not fear death or pain. His misery comes from his incarceration. So shall he remain. Being so close to all that he wants… Gotham ripe in turmoil. Absolutely helpless. To do nothing causes him suffering."

That word. _Suffering_. It causes recognition to ring through her body.

"What did you mean before?" she turns fully to him. "When you said I would come to love my suffering?"

The question causes Bane to grasp his lapels. The old, worn, leather trench that smelled like a decade of sweat and dirt. She wondered where he got it from. A dead body perhaps. She wondered about the stories behind each stain, scratch, and rip. She wondered what type of life a man must live through in order to turn into something called Bane.

His eyes were dark this afternoon. Sullen and cold like the gray sky as they stared down at her.

"A mad Russian once said, '_Man is sometimes extraordinarily, passionately, in love with suffering'_ Whether that be the suffering he causes others or his own personal suffering. A man's own personal suffering is bittersweet. It makes him humble. It makes him livid. It makes him _dangerous_." he let the word hang in the air before going on. "My own suffering is to both my body and my soul."

She looked him up and down then. The old scars that riddled his bald head and bare hands. His height. The length of his legs and the reach of his arms. The thick muscle that surrounded his dense bones. Then to the tight mask squeezing his thick cheeks.

"Is that why you wear that mask?" she questioned.

He lifted his left hand and stroked the bottom of his mask, as a regular man would stroke his beard.

"My body is my greatest asset… as well as my greatest weakness. Without my mask I would become crippled with pain."

"Why?"

"You shouldn't concern yourself with _my_ traumas. What is _your_ suffering, girl?"

What was her suffering? Her first thought was Bane. Bane, was her suffering. Yet, that did not feel entirely true. That was not a suffering that plagued her entire life. His torment was only recent. So what was her real suffering?

She looked away from the man before her and tried to think. What caused her to suffer? Something deep down. Something there. She could not grasp it.

"Ah, _'Still there is an ache in you, and the more you do not know, the worse the ache_.'" he drawled. "What do you do with all that time by yourself in the Box? Perhaps you need more time for self-reflection."

She stared up at him with loathing. Feeling her cheeks run hot despite the cool weather. He slapped a hand on her back and then grasped the back of her neck. The action was always done as a silent threat. A mockery. A reminder that she was only a girl and he could snap her neck like a chicken's.

"Come. Enough of your childish brooding." he spoke as he led her away from the street and up the stone steps of the court house.

* * *

The commotion and excitement of the Court seemed to dying down. Only a small crowd formed inside. There was paper everywhere. All over the floor. It smelled too. It smelled of body odor and sweat. Urine as well. It was the one thing she couldn't understand. Without any rules, people thought it fine to just piss anywhere. She couldn't stand it.

As she stepped further in, the door closed behind her and she felt Bane's calloused hand leave her neck. She looked over her shoulder and realized the man was no longer there. Her hair stood on end and her scalp tightened. It frightened her how quick, quiet… and deadly he could be.

There was a reason he wanted her to go alone. But, why? He was going to be watching from somewhere.

Pilar turned back around and slowly made her way into the crowd. She creeped up behind a tall man. She was close enough at the front of the crowd to see, but not out in the open for Crane to notice her. There was a man sitting in the chair that she had once sat in. She tried to think about how long that had been, but time felt lost to her.

She recognized the man from yesterday. Bill Wesley. Face glistening as he looked up at Crane atop his mountain of desks.

"So, here we have Mr. Wesley." Crane's voice rang out. "Some of you may recognize him from his television show and some of you may recognize him as the man who spits on you as he walks by on the street. Let's see what we have here…" he slipped on his black horn rimmed glasses and perused through a pile of papers on his desk.

"You've done quite an excellent job covering your dirty tracks, but we managed to dig up a few things… Here we go. Extortion, fraud, a very nice sexual assault lawsuit that you managed to end quietly by paying off the woman, and a minor drug possession while in university." Crane looked up from the paper and smiled. He flicked it into the air. The parchment carelessly fell to join the ones covering the floor.

"It still amazes me the people they allow on television. Didn't you say all people who used drugs should be put in jail? Oh, how I fiercely love hypocrisy. You _stole_ money from the workers on your show. Men and women who were honest and hardworking; you stole from the pension fund and walked on them like a rug. " Crane laced his fingers together.

"You fucking communist bastards! This isn't a fair trial!" Wesley shouted.

The room erupted in laughter. Crane's smile broadened.

"Sadly, your charming personality cannot save you. This isn't a trial. This is a sentencing. You have lived a foul and greedy life, Mr. Wesley. You have no sense of dignity or shame. You used a camera as a way to lie and spread fear to the people. Perhaps you felt power, control, and superiority… but not anymore. _Now_, all you have is a choice." Crane paused and took off his glasses.

"Death or exile?"

Wesley breathed heavily. His thick face was red and gleaming. The once perfectly kept Republican haircut was now knotted and greasy. He was nothing who he use to be.

Pilar remembered the feeling of sitting in that chair. The sweat, the need to vomit, hands shaking, and the feeling of invisible walls closing in. As a spectator, she hung on to the man's silence. Waiting… waiting to see if this man would face his death or be a coward.

She watched as he released a huff of air before voicing his decision.

"I'm willing to die for my political views. Kill me, you communist cunts!"

Surprised, Crane raised his eyebrows before slamming down the gavel.

"The TV star chooses to be a martyr. Death."

Two men marched up to Wesley and grabbed him by each arm before leading him away. A bawling woman was now being shoved into the chair. Pilar frowned before slipping away from the crowd. Quietly as she could, she followed Wesley and the two men through the door at the back of the room. Pilar keeping a fair distance back as they turned down old hallways in the bowels of the court house. Bane brought her here during a specific time. Wesley's time. She wanted to know where they all went.

The further they walked, a certain smell became more pungent. A smell that was familiar in the city nowadays. Finally the men turned a corner towards a metal door. Pilar could see the gloomy outside through its tiny window. She held back as one of the men kicked it open. The smell became immediately overbearing, causing Pilar to choke. The three walked outside and Pilar raced to the door before it closed.

Her feet became rooted to the pavement at the sight before her. Immediately, she cuffed her mouth and nose with her sleeve to filter the stench. Bile rose up her throat and swelled in her mouth. Hot and acrid. She had to swallow it back down.

"Oh, God! Jesus!" Wesley cried as the men led him forward.

There were bodies.

Bodies everywhere.

Overflowing the row of dumpsters they set up. On the ground. Left without care. Rotting. Blackened sagging flesh. Bones. But they weren't alone. There were feral dogs. Cats. Birds. Flies. Crows. Eating them. For a split second, Pilar thought the ground was moving. Then she realized it was bugs and maggots swarming around. A scene of grotesque chaos.

Wesley was sobbing and cursing as the men pushed him away towards the dumpsters. He accidentally stepped on a body, the rotting flesh slipping off and under his shoe. It caused him to heave over and vomit.

One of the men gripped his rifle, "Meet your maker, you loud mouthed asshole."

Wesley straightened up and lifted his arms, "No, wait-"

The gun fired. The echoing shot caused the animals to scatter. Blood sprayed from Wesley's chest. He staggered backward and tripped over a body, hitting the pavement with a loud _SMACK_. He remained twitching and sputtering blood.

"Should I go for a head shot?"

The second man shook his head, "Nah, I was told to let him bleed out. He deserves it slow anyways. Let's head back and see if another person has chosen Death."

Life suddenly found its way back into her legs. Pilar spun around and attempted to wrench open the door. With horror, she realized it was locked on the outside.

"Ey!"

She turned to the voice. The two Revolutionists stood facing her. A man with an eyepatch leered at her. She could feel her insides drop.

"_You_!" he hissed at her with recognition.

He drew his handgun from his hip and aimed it at her. The rifleman looked on with confusion.

"It's just some teenage punk. What are you doing?"

The one eyed man stepped closer to her.

"Not just an ordinary little shit. This one took my eye and then, from what I hear of it, became Bane's little lap dog. Is that right, girl?" he stood before her and pressed the barrel of the gun against her chest.

She fumed at the title. "I'm a prisoner, not a lap dog."

"He hasn't killed you yet. Back in the sewers, he would kill a guy for just sneaking off from work to take a shit. But, _you_… just a girl, with no use at all. He takes you from Court and walks around the city with you."

She said nothing. Her mouth felt dry and her lips glued shut. Bane sparing her life didn't feel like a gift.

"You're going to get what you deserved, little lady. Now, walk slowly to the dumpsters with your hands up."

She did as he said and walked slowly towards the bodies. The animals had returned to their feast. A loud mass of cawing, growing, yelping, and snarling. Somewhere off to her left, Wesley was still gurgling blood and struggling for his own life. She stared at the ground. Watching her feet carry her to her death. Squishing maggots along the way. A knot grew in her throat. She could hear the rifleman speaking behind her.

"If she is favored by Bane, don't you think this is a bad idea?"

She felt a trickle of hope. Let that man feel some kind of humanity. Let him save her from this idiot with a gun.

"This is a free Gotham now. If I wanted to kill Bane's goddamn mother, I could. I'm gonna watch the dogs eat this bitch." the man laughed.

"I'm not fucking with Bane. Do what you want, I'm going back inside."

The sound of jingling keys and the metal door opening and closing resounded a moment after. Stomping out her hope of compassion in the other man. She felt hatred for him. How could he just walk away? How could he turn his back on a defenseless girl with a gun being pointed at her?

"Stop there." the man ordered.

Pilar halted and looked up. The bodies in the dumpster frightened her. Bent in unnatural way. Bloated. Eyes picked clean with bugs squirming. A crow landed on an arm that was hanging out. It stared and cawed at her. She couldn't help but wonder if it was the crow from before. Waiting to eat her next.

Her heart thumped in her chest. Every beat reminding her that she was alive. Sending terror through her because she knew that was all about to be taken away. Sending her to a place unknown.

Would death be truly terrible? She could finally escape Bane and Gotham.

The thought didn't soothe her. Instead it ignited a fire. She didn't want to escape Bane. She wanted to kill him. She didn't want to escape Gotham. She wanted to save it. There were things still left for her to do. She did not want to die. Not now at least.

"What I don't understand is why he chose you. We've had to kill people even younger than you, so it can't be your age. So, why did he spare your life? Fucking you maybe." the man chuckled.

The thought of it sent rage through her veins. She would rather die than let that ever happen. It made her sick to think that was what people assumed at the sight of them.

"Quiet one, you are. That's all right. You'll meet your maker all the same. Turn around now."

She was going to die. Something hot and angry grew inside her chest. Swelling and spreading and making her eyes water. Was this why Bane sent her alone? Was she sent here to die? Why not do it himself?

Slowly, she turned towards the gunman with her eyes to the ground. Air became trapped inside her lungs as she saw not one set of feet, but two. The larger pair standing behind the other and wearing a pair of boots she knew well. They stomped across her stomach this morning. The anger in her chest evaporated.

Her eyes trailed up to the grinning gunman and to Bane's monstrous figure looming silently behind him. The man's smile faltered as he realized something was wrong. In his last second of life, Pilar looked into his eye. She wanted to see it happen. Bane's hands shot forward. One on the man's chin and the other on the back of his head. A twist and a crack and the one eyed man fell heavy to the pavement. Pilar allowed her shaky arms drop back down. Bane stepped over the man's body and looked down at her.

"You're in my charge. You are allowed to die, when I say you can. Not by the whims of some vagrant with a gun." She had never seen him hold a gun and by the way he said the word, she could tell he had a distaste for them. As if they were for lowly, weak men… and he was Bane. Above such men.

Her captor had saved her. He chose to kill the man instead of frightening him into running off. She was glad for it. She watched as he walked over to the blood soaked body of Wesley. His eyes flickered up to her and knew it was a silent beckoning. The wanna-be martyr was still alive and shaking as he looked up at them.

"You wish to be merciful and kind, then end his suffering… or are you still a child?"

Pilar frowned down at the dying man. His face was pale and ashen. His lips and cheeks speckled with blood from his coughing. Vomit on his chin and shirt. The flies were all ready on him. The wound on his abdomen was weeping blood. Soaking his dirty white shirt. She could smell it. Like a million old pennies.

Death was coming to him, yet he still had enough life to look up at the two of them with hatred. She couldn't understand why he hated her. He wouldn't be grateful for her helping him along. Only curse her. Yet, was it dishonorable to turn her back on a man suffering? She tried to think of what the Batman would do in this situation. He showed mercy to the Joker… he would show mercy to anyone.

But, Batman is gone. Left to die in some hole. He's not coming back. Bane said so. She wanted to do good. She wanted to show people that they didn't have to wait around for a hero. Where did that get her? In Bane's hands. She was never going to be like Batman.

Pilar wrinkled her nose at the dying man and turned her back to him. Bullies didn't deserve mercy or kindness. Death was coming for him. She may as well leave him to it.

She could hear Wesley sputtering behind her as he struggled to speak.

"You… cold fucking… bitch." he rasped.

Lead settled itself in her stomach. He thought her to be cold. She would show him cold.

She turned back around. Her eyes watched as her leg moved on its own accord. Lifting slowly and settling her foot ominously above his gunshot wound. Her eyes snaked up to look in to his. There was fear in them. Her foot lowered and applied heavy pressure. Blood flowed like a thick stream beneath her sneaker. A gurgling sound came from Wesley's throat as he clawed helplessly at her jean leg. Painting it with bloody hand prints. The lead boiled in her stomach as she watched the life behind his eyes flicker and die.

* * *

**Bane**

Wordlessly, he watched with satisfaction as the girl slowly compressed the life out of the man on the ground. Her face was stoney as the last air bubbled out of the man's throat. His arms fell limp on to the pavement and his eyes gazed into nothingness. The girl removed her foot and stepped away. She was suddenly timid. Her chin quivered and she shied away from the man's body. Looking away from it. At that moment, he thought of Talia. Pondered how she reacted when she first killed a man. Was she like this girl? Appalled and afraid? Or had Talia been exactly how she said? Cold and detached from the start.

The girl looked up at him then. Her eyes glassy and tinged with bitter darkness. He had wanted her to encounter death. Smell its stink. Witness its rot. Observe the cruelty of nature. He had hoped she would kill for the first time. She had done better. She tortured for the first time. The withering of her self-righteousness was tangible. It filled Bane's chest with delight.

"You do Gotham justice." he scoffed.

A tear slipped. Her chin had stopped quivering and her face was stone. As it rolled down her cheek, her eyes became darker. He stared transfixed at the insolent tear as it slipped toward her jaw. She was a teenage girl with dark skin and a lean muscled body. Then she was a pale faced child, with arms and legs that were skinny from malnourishment. Red lips and peach fuzz hair on her head. Eyes monstrous and dark as a single tear escaped, dropping on to the head of a little teddy bear.

"How do you move so quietly?"

The child from the jail was gone. Transforming back into the Gotham girl. He almost did not hear her question. The sound of the flies and animals was becoming antagonizing. The girl stared up at him with her black, determined eyes.

"To be a part of the League of Shadows," he began. "You must learn to be its namesake. Soundless as a shadow. The most elementary of tricks to the initiated."

"That's what I want."

Bane's lips curled into smile beneath his mask.

"We shall see."

* * *

He awoke early the next morning. Cold. Light had not yet leaked in through the barred windows. His cell that was now his new living quarters. He could have taken up space wherever he wanted. In any rich man's home. He wanted none of it. Beds that were luxurious and soft felt uncomfortable. Beautiful places and tasteful decorations looked ugly to him. He belonged to the dark and dreary.

His cot had hand woven blankets that he picked up from Tailand. Moth eaten and dirty. Maps hung from the walls. World maps. Gotham City maps. Sewer maps. His clothes laid in a neat pile in the corner. His jackets slung over the iron bars of his cot. A small horde of nonperishable foods were beneath the small bed. As well as a portable stove across from the bed next to his toilet. Quaint. Dismal. But so much more than he had when he was a child.

He slipped off his cot and on to the floor. He crossed his legs and straightened his back. His mask exaggerated his breathing as he closed his eyes and began his meditation.

This was his daily morning schedule, unless he was required to do other duties. Wake up, meditation for 2-3 hours, eat, and train when he could. He learned to be a master of meditation before the League of Shadows. Years and years of being incarcerated, the bulk of it being isolation, left him with unlimited time. His entire world was the length of three short paces. But, they could not confine his mind. In his mind, he travelled beyond his tomb. He travelled outside those walls using meditation techniques all his own. They grew from utter desolation and crushing boredom.

He entered solitary confinement as a child. The child died there. So did fear. The man was created. Bane was what left that cell. Only after coming out of solitary did he begin to improve his body. His mind was disciplined before his flesh ever was. Many people assume otherwise. Each day and each year added up and created the image he sought to obtain. He was power. He was strength. He used that power to slaughter inmates and prison guards. Then he was sent to the Pit. To hell on earth. He was sent to Talia. Then to her devil of a father.

_"I would not speak so ill of Ra's Al Ghul."_

Bane's eyes blinked open. Daylight shined through the window and spread across the floor of the cell. He thought of his old mentor as he stood and stretched.

His time with the League of Shadows allowed him to learn many things about Ra's Al Ghul. Secrets upon secrets. A web of dark magic that Talia became tangled in. She was only now beginning to suspect that Bane knew something. He knew everything though. People say that Ra's Al Ghul cannot die. An exaggeration. He is like any mortal man. He feels pain. He can die a slow and agonizing death, as Bane was sure he had done before. He simply knows how to cheat death and come back to life.

Bane made a meager breakfast on his stove and left it on to put some heat in the cell. He sat back down on his cot. The springs shrieking from his weight. He balanced his bowl of food on his lap as he closed his eyes and breathed deep, still riding on the sensations of his meditation. He reached his hands up to undo the clasp on the back of his mask. It slipped off and he placed it next to him on the cot. He relished the feeling of the cool air on his cheeks and lips. As always, for a few moments, he felt normal with the anesthetic still lingering.

He began to eat. Steadily but quickly. The chills came first. Then the spasming. The sharp stabbing pain that caused him to struggle with sitting up straight. When the numbness began to tingle in his arms and legs, Bane set his empty bowl of food aside and clasped his mask back on. His eyes closed as he evened out his labored breathing. The pain ebbed away. He flexed his hands until the pins and needles of numbness disappeared.

What he loathed more than anything was being reliant. That's what he was now. Yes, he had power. He had strength. Yet, now he had an ultimate weakness. He loathed it. The thought of being weak sickened him, but he had embraced the truth long ago and accepted it. He would be debilitated for the rest of his life.

Or would he?

His eyes trailed over to the map of the United States of America. A location was circled with red marker on the Appalachian Mountains. It was not yet time to execute that plan. First, Gotham needed to become rubble. Then the girl… He had wanted the girl to be the one to kill the Batman. One last cruelty before his demise. That is, if she survives her training. Her piousness was all ready depleting and being replaced with a rage. A rage against him. Undoubtedly, she plotted his downfall and death. It was humorous. The thought of a girl being his end.


	5. Chapter 5

**********Disclaimer:** I do not own Batman or any characters created by Bob Kane or Chuck Dixon. This story is based off the trilogy by Christopher Nolan with tidbits of the comics laced in.

**A/N**: Phew. Sorry about this. On top of me being a finicky writer (I'll rewrite a chapter three times before I'm remotely happy), I live in NJ and we were hit pretty rough by the storm. We were out of power for quite awhile. But, we've got it back now so I can access my laptop and keep the ball rolling! Enjoy.

* * *

**Pilar**

Days melt into one another. A slew of pains, aches, and woes. Bane had her on a regular schedule now. At the crack of dawn, he would retrieve her. She would intake a modest breakfast followed by meditation and stretching. Training for endless hours followed by whatever tasks he set her to. Mostly cleaning. Scrubbing the floors of the prison until her hands were cramped and raw. When the night time came, she was given tedious literature by writers like Dostoyevsky, Nietzsche, Sartre, J.L. Mackie, and Richard Joyce.

The way they were written was much more advanced than what she was use to, making it difficult for her to follow. Of what she could comprehend left her feeling morose. Leaving her head buzzing in her empty cell as she waited for sleep.

At the moment, they were doing their hourly meditation. The practice was harder than it appeared and exasperated her to no end. Bane could meditate for hours straight, meanwhile she could hardly do 15 minutes without losing her concentration. She could not deal with the absolute silence. She could not find peace.

"Conquer your mind and conquer your thoughts, or they will conquer you." he had said to her.

She didn't need to conquer any thoughts. She allowed them to drive her. Propel her through the grueling training. Weight and strength training. Isometrics. Pain endurance. If she used bad form, Bane would whack her in the legs with a polycarbonate police baton and order her to redo the entire set. Through the pain, the bruises, and exhaustion only spite kept her strong. Everlasting. Cold. Malignant. Spite. She allowed herself to be absorbed by it.

She was in the middle of her last push-up set. Sweat was pouring from her face as her arms screamed for mercy and her back struggled to keep straight. As she lowered herself, her arms shook violently and she collapsed. An infuriatingly common occurrence. She yelped as she earned another whack on the back of her thigh.

"A distressing display of strength." came Bane's ridicule.

To him, it was pitiful, of course. He could do more than a thousand push-ups, sit-ups, and pull-ups. Her count was measly compared to his and he adored to remind her how physically weak she was. But, she was not weak. She was getting stronger. Bane could stomp across her stomach to no avail. While standing, she could take a hit in the stomach and not be knocked down. She was learning to manipulate her body and control her breathing to build up pain tolerance. Next, they would start using the same techniques for her neck so she may learn to protect her throat.

"We're done for today. Up."

She did as she was bid. Her legs trembled and her head swam, making her vision surge dark. She leaned against the wall and fumbled with the water bottle Bane tossed to her. Bottled water, fruits, vegetables, and meats. Bane had access to it all. Barsad would come once a week with a crate of food. High quality shipments instead of the preservatives that were handed out at checkpoints in the city.

Pilar came to realize that Barsad was the closest thing Bane had to a Second in Command. A fairly built man with unkempt brown reddish hair and dark stubble. He was in charge of the Revolutionists since Bane seemed to have no real concern over them. Bane also mentioned that Barsad was part of the League of Shadows, as were a few other henchmen around.

The Joker's voice echoed in her thoughts. Pilar speculated once more to the whereabouts of the trigger. He wouldn't give it to an ordinary citizen, would he? No, Bane does not like spontaneity or chaos. He likes his plans. The Joker was right. It had to be near. But where? Barsad or any of the other 'initiated'? Would Bane trust such a thing with them? Trusting a person with the detonator also meant Bane would trust the person with his life. Pilar could not fathom a single person that it could be.

He was cruel and murderous. He had attachments to nobody. No matter if they were a citizen or one of his fellow initiated, Bane would kill them.

"Come." he interrupted her thoughts. After each day of training, she would eat different proteins. Whatever was available. Meat, of course. Eggs. Assorted nuts. Milk, which was exceptionally difficult to come by. Nearly impossible for an average citizen. Perishable foods such as that was coveted and hoarded by Revolutionists.

"A good dog deserves a reward." Bane commented off-handedly as they walked.

The word 'dog' ignited an angry fire in her chest. She remembered what the one-eyed man had said to her.

"That is what they call me. They call me your lap dog." she muttered with a poisonous tone.

Bane halted and turned towards her. The weak light overhead created dark shadows that covered his eyes. The effect paired with the snarling mask made him appear more monstrous than normal. He clasped his hands behind his back before addressing her.

"What would you like to be?" he questioned softly.

"A _person_ with a name."

She heard him breathing through his mask in the silence that followed. Even though the shadows hid eyes, she could feel their demeaning gaze. The air was heavy and she found herself regretting speaking out. The muscles in her jaw tensed and locked.

"What _is_ your name?" he questioned as if he was surprised she even had one. As if he never thought to call her anything but 'girl' or 'dog'.

"Pi-"

He was quick and she was caught unawares. The slap stung and shocked her but was light in comparison to other times she had been hit. Bane cocked his head to the side and cupped a hand at the spot his ear was hidden under the mask.

"Your name?"

Her teeth clenched together painfully as her eyes narrowed in rage. She lifted her chin and stared up at him with determination.

"Pil-"

Slapped again. This time it was harder, causing her head to snap to the side. His gauntlet had caught her. She could feel the cut bleeding on her cheek. The fire in her chest was spreading and pulsating. Hurting her in an entirely different way the slapping did. It surged up her throat and out of her mouth,

"I have a name!" she screamed up at him.

The night stick caught her this time. Snapping against her thigh and forcing her to floor. She bit her lip in pain, causing the dry skin to crack and bleed. The stick had hit a pre-existing bruise and she could all ready feel the spot swelling up. She tried not to cry. He would only hurt her more if he saw tears.

_Pain is only an allusion. _

Bane squatted beside her. His cold eyes became visible to her. Radiant with emotion that was unknown to her. That's what frightened her most about him. Other people had glazed over, empty stares. His eyes were raw and formidable. Thundering with terrible emotions. Terrible. Too intense at times to hold for long. His eyes made other people's gazes look cheap and false.

"You have a name. As do I… but our birth names do not matter because that is who we no longer are."

But it was! She was still Pilar.

Pilar, the girl no one would hang out with. Pilar, the sister that her brothers would pick on. Pilar, the daughter her mother resented because she was not more like her. Pilar, the name her father gave her. She could close her eyes and almost imagine him in front of her.

Pilar. Pilar.

She just wanted someone else to say it. She wanted someone to look at her and address her by name. She wanted someone to make her feel like a person again. Was that a terrible thing to yearn for? To be wanted? To be recognized?

"You want acceptance. You want love." he observed. She hated that he knew her thoughts. Her desires. Was she an open book? Was she truly so easily read? It made her feel weak.

"Keep to your loneliness, girl. You'll be thankful." he advised as he had done long ago. "Loneliness is the human condition. Cultivate it. Never expect to outgrow it. Never hope to find people who will understand you, someone to fill that space. If you expect to find people who will understand you, you will grow murderous with disappointment. The best you'll ever do is understand yourself. That is why you need to meditate. That is why you need to read. That is why you need to awaken your consciousness."

She blinked angrily at him before looking away, attempting to control the turmoil in her stomach. She did not want to believe herself alone. If she accepted her abandonment, what was there in life to achieve? What was there to look forward to in a lonely and desolate life? Especially in this city. Especially in Gotham. Especially with Bane's shadow choking everything.

She wanted to cry because what he said was true. The only person to understand her was her father. He was gone. Forever gone.

She missed him. The way he looked at things with his sad dark eyes. The way he spoke to her. The way he would say her name with a little hidden smile. The thought of his discarded body lying somewhere filled her with grief. Had he died in pain? Had he died alone? Afraid? She could feel her stomach twisting.

He was gone. Those once sad, warm eyes lifeless and being plucked by crows. Searching in vain for a replacement would only serve to destroy her.

"What is your name?" he asked once more.

He took everything from her and now demanded for her to relinquish her identity as well. She wanted to scream her name but knew it would only end in punishment. She was weak from the training and couldn't handle any more hits to her legs. His words had left her in shambles as well. Her mind doused in cold depression. If she wanted to go on through this endeavor, she would need to play by his games.

Her father was dead.

Dead. Rotted flesh and a bag of maggots.

Taken from her. Taken away from her by Bane.

The recesses of her heart became poisoned black. Every waking day she had would be sworn to one thing. She would make him pay for taking away the one person who loved her.

"I have no name." she whispered.

"Good dog."

So it went. Every day she would train. She would meditate. She would read. Every day he would ask her,

"What is your name?"

and she would reply, "I have no name."

If she did not respond correctly, she would be hit. If she did not respond quickly enough, she would be hit. If she did not respond with conviction, she would be hit. Merriment, joy, happiness. These things fled from her. She was beginning to forget what it had been like to feel them. Her heart was a gaping pit that was filled in with wrath or dispassion. Apathy or animosity.

Bane moved her out of the Box and into the cell next to his. She did not miss her tiny hell. The cold, pinching at her skin every night. The sick, stifling air. The coppery smell coming from the stone walls. She hoped to never rest in there again.

Her new space was spacious by comparison. A comfortable cot and ample room to stretch. She could lay down now. A luxury she missed. Yet it did nothing to help her sleep. Every night, she would pass out from exhaustion only to wake up in sweat soaked intervals. She kept seeing Bill Wesley's face. The life leaking from his eyes. The gurgling sounds he made. Sometimes she dreamt that he hadn't died. She would frantically stomp on him, but he would stand and wrap his bloody fingers around her throat.

She dreamt of crows pecking at her skin. Stripping away the flesh to reveal wiggling maggots underneath. She would wake up with the need to vomit and a fear to succumb to sleep once more.

She had made a mistake. She never should have done what she did. Never again. Never again.

But, there were people who deserved to die, right? The Joker, the members of the League of Shadows, the Revolutionists, Bane… If she killed them would their faces haunt her dreams? Would their last dying breaths live in her for eternity?

Maybe they would. But, maybe some deaths were worth the nightmares and torment.

On nights she could not sleep, she would pull out the Joker's tooth and pick at it with her fingers. Feeling every crack and chip. The plaque and dried blood. Reminding herself of the mortality of even the most evil of men. She would close her eyes to the fantasy of murdering the Joker and Bane.

* * *

A day came when she could no longer wear the clothes she had. They were crusted and falling apart from grime, blood, and sweat. She smelled terrible. Her skin felt like it was constantly covered in a layer of filth. Her hair had become knotted and matted. Bane shaved her head clean before tossing her into the prison showers. It wouldn't be so terrible if she were alone, but Bane's men used the prison. The mess hall, the showers, the cells with cots.

There were a few men in the showers now. A wide open room with shower heads on the walls and drains on the floor. The men all stopped and stared as her and Bane walked in. Snickering. She saw their naked, wet, and spongey bodies and looked away immediately. She felt her ears and cheeks pulsate hot. She turned towards Bane.

"Can I shower with my clothes on?"

"No, your stench is repulsive. You will need to wear prison jumpsuits from now on."

She wanted to kick and scream and run out of the showers. She didn't want to be naked. She didn't want men to look at her. She wanted to hide in the Box and be dirty rather than shower.

Silently, she watched Bane turn the water on at the shower head she was to use. He turned and gave her an irritated glare.

"Undress."

She peeped around at the men standing around. Staring at her. Waiting expectantly. She had never been naked around a man, let alone a room of men. Her heart hammered in her chest as she looked back up at Bane. She was ashamed of her childishness but couldn't dance around her fear. She shook her head in stiff defiance. She couldn't do it. She wouldn't do it.

She saw his fingers on his right hand scissor together impatiently and knew that she had angered him. A shriek escaped her lips as he grabbed her shirt and ripped it apart. She held the fabric together to keep her small breasts covered. Her heart was thundering in her chest. Pounding like a loud drum in her ears, but she could still hear the laughter of the men. Her eyes started to water.

Bane brought his face close to hers. He would be able to see her glassy eyes. She prayed that a tear wouldn't slip and betray her. It would only earn her more punishment.

"Undress or I shall do it for you." he threatened.

She quickly nodded her head. Bane released her and gave her the civility of turning his back to her. Maybe it wasn't politeness. Maybe he thought her so unattractive that he did not even want to see her naked. She was fine with that. She could all ready feel the stares of the other men, she didn't need Bane's as well.

Pilar attempted to be quick. Shaking hands undid her pants and ripped them off. The men started hooting and laughing as she ripped off the rest of her shirt. She jumped beneath the cold water and grabbed a soap on a rope that was hanging on the wall. She quickly lathered her body, rinsed, and jumped out of the stream.

"I'm done!" she declared as she covered her modest areas.

Without turning around, Bane replied, "I can still smell you."

The men laughed at her again. Made comments about her body. Her breasts. Her body hair. Her scars and newly formed bruises. She was ugly. Hideous.

"I have bigger tits than her!" a man jeered.

"Hey, hun, I'll help you lather up!" another added.

One man said nothing but stared at her, stopping in the middle of his shaving to do so. It made her want to curl into a ball in the corner. It was the man from Arkham Asylum. The man with frigid eyes. It was worse than him saying anything. She turned away and closed her eyes. Her chin was trembling and she had to fight herself not to cry. Her fingers dug into her skin, wishing she could just rip it all off.

_You're weak when you cry. Do not be weak. Don't be what they want you to be._

She tried to block out their voices. Forget the stares. She slunk back beneath the shower head. Her aching muscles screamed from the cold water and she shivered as she rewashed herself. This time scrubbing violently at her skin. Her heart ceased pounding anxiously in her chest. She felt her humiliation leave her. Abandoning her to only her anger.

She would kill them one day. The ones who laughed at her. The ones who thought of her to be weak. The ones who thought she was nothing more than a girl. A woman. A pussy.

She stepped away from the shower once more. Clean. Raw.

Bane held out his arm. A towel and orange jumpsuit hung over it. She didn't thank him. She would never thank him for a thing. This was all some ploy to humiliate her. To keep her low and beneath him. She dried herself as quickly as possible and slipped on the jumpsuit. It was scratchy and a bit long in the legs and arms, but she was relieved to be clothed once more. She slipped on the sneakers that she had been allowed to keep, while Bane bent over and grabbed her filthy clothes. He made to leave. She followed sullenly in his footsteps.

The man who had offered to help her shower was still laughing at her. He said something along the lines of, "Good dog." as she passed.

He didn't have time to defend himself as Bane grabbed him by the front of the face and smashed the back of his skull against the tile. Pilar heard the bone splinter and crunch. When Bane released him, the man slid lifelessly to the floor. Leaving a red painted smear on the wall as he went. Just like that, Bane walked on as if nothing had happened.

She lingered and stared at the dead man. Muscles around his mouth and eyes twitched as his nerves flared and perished. She looked up at the men in the showers. They were no longer laughing or smirking at her.

The corners of her mouth curled into a smile for the first time in a long time.

* * *

**Bane**

It was like watching a flower bloom. Carefully molding the soil around it. Providing nutrition. Watching it grow from a seedling to a bud. Witnessing the flower unfurl to reveal blackened petals. Dark and deadly. Beautiful in its own poisonous nature.

Everything that he had hoped for her to be. Her mind needed to be molded. Sculpted and shaped in what was expected of her. Bane wondered if this was how Ra's felt about Talia. The sick satisfaction from the manipulation of an innocent mind. Making a person into exactly what you wanted them to be.

He felt the familiar tickle of resentment in his belly. She said she had been furious when her father excommunicated Bane. She claimed she left and only came back upon learning her father's death. But why had she not come and found him? Why had she not left _with_ him? She had chosen her father over him. Then, she had chosen Bruce Wayne over him.

Bane. The one who saved her life. The one who protected her. Without him, the prisoners would have teared her apart, just for the sport of it.

The girl. The dog. The black flower. The sheet urchin. She was nothing like Talia. Even when Talia was a child, she was pretty. Androgynous, but pretty. As a woman, she was beautiful. A woman that walked within her own universe. A woman that held her own temperature. Cold.

"The book that I'm reading…" the girl interrupts his reminiscence.

She takes another bite from her banana, allowing him to glimpse the queer gap she has between her two front teeth. She chews slowly, gazing at the table. Hard in thought.

"It says that because morals are created by man, there is no true right or wrong. It's only what has been fabricated in our minds…"

She looks up at him. The dark brown eyes of hers always burning angry and dark like coal.

"It's bullshit." she takes another small bite of the banana.

He abhorred her language. Her ignorant and lazy synopsis sludged into a single curse word.

_Bullshit_.

He knew Talia would never speak that way.

"How?" he indulged her.

"There _is_ a wrong or right." she insisted. "What does it matter how or why it was constructed? There are some things that you know are wrong."

She attempted to be so fastened. So moored and resolute. Like the Batman. She was scrabbling at wet stones. He knew her to be weak. He knew her to be breakable. Like a chalkboard that could be erased and rewritten on. She tried earnestly not to be. Perhaps she even believed herself to be as unyielding as the Dark Knight.

"Like killing people?" he offered.

"Yes." the girl threw away the banana peel.

"Why?" Bane's voice was soft and quizzical. Practiced neutrality.

"Because it is. Not because what someone tells me, but because of what my heart tells me." She was still so simple. So innocent. Desperately trying to stick to the good inside of her.

"You heart?" he drawled. The words grating through his mask.

"And who told your heart? Who has fabricated the morals around you since your day of birth? Telling you right from wrong, justice from injustice? Your heart has been told how to feel and which tune to beat to. You choose to still cling to those morals even when you're beginning to understand that there are people who deserve to die."

Her eyes burned darker. She hated the truth, like most do. She hated him because he brought it before her unapologetically. She thought him to be a monster. He has been told that enough times.

_You're a monster_, they say. The title was humorous to him. He imagined a fairy tale villain instead of himself. Perhaps it was true. Perhaps he was no mortal man but a monster… and he did not care. Dostoevsky wrote, _"There is no escape for you; that you never could become a different man; that even if time and faith were still left you to change into something different, you would most likely not wish to change." _ There was no hope or desire for change within him.

"The book just tells us to cling to nothing. How can a person have nothing?"

"Only after we lose everything, are we free to become anything." Bane quoted.

Her eyes trail away. She seemed sad and bitter. Reluctant to release those tethers that bound her.

"No gods and no morals. No happiness and no love. Only loneliness and emptiness. Morals give people something to fight for." she whispered. Her eyes flicked back up to Bane. The sadness was extinguished. She had nothing but hot hatred for him. "You fight for something, don't you?" she questioned.

He did. He fought for a someone. Someone whom has commanded his life since he first met her. But, the little dog did not need to know that. No one did.

"I fight to watch the world burn." he told his half-truth.

Burn it he would. Burn it in rage. Burn it in resentment. Burn it for her. All for her.

"Don't you think it's better to fight for something you love?"

_Love_. He despised the word. He despised the feeling even more. He did everything for Talia. He loved her just as much as he hated her… but wished he could hate her just a little bit more. Just enough to slip the scales.

"Love humiliates you, but hatred cradles you. I'd much rather fight in the name of the latter."

She blinks irritatedly at him and then her gaze wanders off as she enters deep introspection. He was partial to this side of her personality. A brooding sponge whom he could constantly bewilder with his words. She may hate his perspectives and truths but she acknowledged them nonetheless. She wasn't stupid.

"You want to watch the world burn, but why Gotham? Why are you doing all of this?" her voice was subdued and cautious as she questioned. She was still looking off to the side.

He watched as her fingers fiddled restlessly. Narrow hands with small palms and slender fingers. The nails dirty and chewed to the quick. She had girl's hands. Soft hands. He felt the skin the day he dislocated one of her fingers. He could see they were beginning to form callouses in certain places. Soft hands roughened by training.

"The Batman betrayed the League of Shadows. This is merely recompense."

He watched those slender fingers curl into a fist. She looked over to him, squinting through her lashes. That was one her few feminine qualities. The long, dark lashes.

"Then why are you still here? Batman is gone. Gotham is in shambles. How much do innocent people need to suffer? What more is there?"

So much more, he knew. The buildings and streets must be abolished and paved away in blood. Every person within the city put down like the animals that they are. Leaving Batman's body in the ruin. Talia would not rest until then. In turn, he would not rest either.

And what about after it all? He feared this would all end grievously for him. Behind Talia's back, he was plotting a different way for the Batman to die. She would not take that betrayal lightly. He would run and disappear into the remote corners of the world and she… she would dutifully follow. Her father as well.

Bane thought of the maps in his cell. The single location within the Appalachians.

"End of discussion." he stated solemnly.


	6. Chapter 6

**************Disclaimer:** I do not own Batman or any characters created by Bob Kane or Chuck Dixon. This story is based off the trilogy by Christopher Nolan with tidbits of the comics laced in.

* * *

**Bane**

"Move! Again!"

She blocked his strike, deflected another, ducked under his high kick. Again and again they went. Hands, arms, legs. Muscle memory. Heightened reflexes. Flowing motion. The ways of the old masters, taught to him by Ra's Al Ghul. Left behind to be replaced by his own brutal style of fighting. But, he did not forget. How could he ever forget? It was his life for quite some time… before Ra's decided Bane was getting too close to Talia.

She was sweating and breathing heavily. Her movements were becoming sloppy. She leaned too far into a punch. He tripped her easily. She did not even try to get up as she lay sprawled stomach down on the concrete. She even closed her eyes.

"Get up." he ordered.

"I can't." she breathed out harshly.

He scoffed at her, "You accept defeat too easily. In my world, defeat means death."

He placed his boot on the back of her neck. He could see her body visibly stiffen and her eyelids shot open.

"Do you wish to die? No? Then _rise_." he ordered as he removed his boot.

Her resolve had built itself up once again. Her arms and legs trembled as she pushed herself up. She shook out her limbs before returning to fighting stance. Breathing the way he taught her to. Calmly. Evenly. He motioned for her to attack.

Her striking fist was caught by Bane, and he rolled her wrist sideways. He watched as her face twisted in pain. She attempted to kick at him. A cheap shot at the groin. He lifted his leg and pivoted his hip, allowed the kick to land on his thigh instead. Quickly executed pressure to her wrist caused her to drop to a knee in a yield. But he does not let go.

"Please." little white teeth bared themselves up at him.

"Do you feel that?" he asked softly. "You heart… It's beating faster, making your breathing more erratic, and your brain struggling for necessary oxygen."

He loosens his grip on her thin wrist, resulting in her releasing a breath of relief. "I can control it all from right here." his finger lightly taps on two places. One on the inside of the wrist, and the other on the outside. "Lung. Heart." he allows her hand to drop down.

He crouches down to match her eye level. He extends his arm and with two fingers, prods her in the sternum through her jumpsuit.

"Palm here will cause muscle spasming, once again restricting the lungs."

His hand moved upward. He flicked at the bottom of her jaw, causing her to lift her chin up. His fingers tapped lightly on a section of her exposed throat.

"Do you know what this is called?" he questioned.

"My neck." she answered dully.

"_This_ is the carotid artery. A hit here will cause an immediate blood pressure drop. The person will be knocked unconscious before they even hit the ground." He made his hand flat, doing a slow sweeping motion towards her throat in a feign chop. "A quick hit. With enough pressure, you can cause a simple knockout. With heavy pressure, you can cause a heart attack or make the artery begin to collapse and disintegrate, resulting in death."

He pushed himself to full height and she took the cue to do so as well.

"Do all members of the League of Shadows fight this way?" she asked in a low tone.

Bane began to remove his gauntlet. "They can if they want to. Most choose to use a more covert type of fighting. They like to use their smoke and mirrors." he drawled as he flexed his hand and rolled his wrist.

The girl picked up her water bottle from the ground and proceeded to take tiny sips.

"Why don't you fight this way anymore?"

He paused his motions and gazed down at her harshly.

"I'd rather be more direct." he muttered as he rewrapped his wrist. He could feel her watching him. This one did that a lot, he knew. Watched him when he looked away. Was she learning and storing every motion away in her mind? Little mannerisms, quirks, and idiosyncrasies. Or do her eyes seek other things?

When he looked at her, she would always attempt to hide her stare. Eyes moving shyly around the room. He nodded to her, "Break is over. Practice high kicks until I say otherwise."

For an hour, he watched her do high kicks. Aiming her toes up and brushing against a piece of string they had dangling from the ceiling. Next, he wrapped up her hands and fingers with tape.

Fingertip pushups and sandbag striking with fingertips.

It was her first time doing those exercises and she suffered, but to be efficient at pressure point attacks a person must have strong fingers and wrists. After those, she was done for the day. Bane undid the taping on her fingers, with her wincing all the while. They were beginning to swell. They would be too sore tomorrow. She would need to wait a few days before getting back to it.

Before they ate, he had her hands soak in warm water. She sat on the floor of his cell hunched over a basin of water. She hissed as she dunked her hands in, eventually sighing with relaxation. Sloshing around the water with her hands. She had such child-like oddities to him.

"How old are you?" he asked her.

She did not respond at first. Her surprise was clear. The question was personal and he had never been personal with her before. The girl looked off to the side, as if trying to remember. She appeared upset.

"My seventeenth birthday is in December. I don't know what month it is now. I've lost track. Maybe I'm seventeen all ready." she whispered.

Seventeen, he thought to himself. At seventeen, Talia was all ready a deadly woman. Assassinating and enthralling men around the world. Talia. With perfectly applied deep red lipstick and shiny maple colored hair curled at the shoulders. Blood on her hands. A poise and confidence that could crumble mountains. This girl. Bare, chapped lips. Slender, clean hands. Foolish and righteous. Rough and uncut.

He understood that this girl was not Talia. She was weak in comparison. She lacked Talia's cunning and unforgiving nature. She was still innocent. Unsullied. Still a child. Talia killed the child within her long, long ago. Pain was what hardened her. He could push the girl to such extremes, but did he want to?

Innocence. Often he scoffed at the word. But, he saw that within Talia when she was just a child. She was an ethereal flame within the dark. He had wanted, for once in his life, to protect something good. In the end, her father ripped away her tenderness. She escaped and could have done anything, but she decided to be with her father. A cold, empty island she became.

He watched the girl remove her hands from the basin and shake out the droplets. He had wanted to use her as example. Twist her into something that would break the Batman's soul. But his obsession with the Batman had faltered. He was no longer terribly concerned with tormenting the man. He found himself growing fond for the girl. He had expectations for her but now he would catch himself planning on what to do with her after.

Sometimes, he thought of bringing her with him. Continuing her training and showing her the world that he knew. Other times, when he felt soggy with his sensibilities, he would plot coldly on leaving her in the ashes of her city. Allowing Talia to skulk back into his post-Gotham scheming.

"How come other people can have names?" the girl broke his reverie. "Barsad, Bane, Batman. All of you have names. Why do I have to be the one without a name?"

He paused before answering, making sure Talia's face melted from his mind's eye. He took the girl's hands and gently dried them with the cloth he used on his neck. She said nothing, but he could feel her arms trembling. He was not perturbed. He would expect any person to be alarmed at his benevolence.

"You know this answer." he said solemnly. "Our birth names are discarded because they hold no… relevance. You are nameless. A blank slate. An entity awaiting to be born."

They gazed at one another. Her iron dark eyes melted and glistened in reverence. He supposed she was keen to that idea. A lost soul on the path to finding its true identity. After a moment, she blinked and looked down at their hands. Her discomfort and apprehension plain on her face. He allowed her to retract her dry hands. She wouldn't look at him, instead she stared at a spot on the cot.

"As I've said before to a… dead man,-" Bane went on. "-it does not matter who we are. All that matters is our plan."

She clenched her jaw, her fingers picking idly at her jumpsuit.

"What is our plan?" came her dampened voice.

"To cleanse Gotham of the corrupt, of course."

* * *

**Pilar**

She feared him. She realized that she was beginning to know him. That frightened her as well. The fact that she was becoming more accustomed to her captor's personality… and that she _wanted_ to. She wanted to know more about him.

That there was something more complex to him. He was walking carnage… but much more also. He had been tender with her. Held her bruised hands and gently dried them with a towel. He didn't have to do that. He could have tossed her the thing. He had _wanted_ to do it. The thought made her stomach roll and her heart thunder. It made her arms shake and all she wanted was to rip her hands away and hold them close to her body. He felt her shaking. She knew he did.

She didn't understand why he had behaved that way. She didn't understand why he behaved in any manner. He wants to watch the world burn, he had said. What makes a monster? One of the books he made her read was by Mary Shelley.

'No man chooses evil because it is evil; he only mistakes it for happiness, the good he seeks.'

What kind of happiness did he seek? Where did he venture... that made him emerge as Bane?

She asked as many questions as she could, each time fearing he would finally become irritated by her and snap. Sometimes he didn't like to answer and if he did, it would be cryptic and vague. Such as the 'Cleansing of Gotham'. It was bullshit. She knew that. He knew that. It was said in a mockery.

"Can I ask you something else?"

He nodded in encouragement.

"I can understand that a lot of your scars are from fighting, but how did you get that big one down your back?"

He leaned forward, his elbows resting just above his knees with his arms dangling between his legs. His eyes flashed with consideration as he looked at her. Sparks of orange being vacuumed into the black holes of his eyes.

"When I was a young man, I was attacked. My body and face slashed and broken, most severely my spine. A man attempted to mend it but it fused incorrectly, leaving me in ceaseless pain."

"And that's why-"

"That is why I wear the mask." he finished for her.

Something swelled in her chest and she didn't know what it meant. She realized she was one of the few people in the world to actually know this about him. He told her something in confidence. Trust. It was a very intense feeling that she decided to cling to. She felt linked to him in that moment. She had not felt that way in a long, long time. With anyone. It was a confusing collision of comfort and dread.

He stood from the cot, "Come." he commanded as he left the cell.

He had brought her to the cafeteria to eat. Left her alone on a bench to speak with Barsad. The men around her stared, their gazes hostile, making it impossible for her to eat. She felt like a piece of meat in a shark tank. She hated being afraid. She hated it.

Her eyes were glued on Bane. Making sure he didn't leave her alone in the cafeteria. She silently thought about the type of person he had been. She wished she had asked why he had been attacked. It was hard to think of him bleeding out and broken. He appeared so strong and infallible. It must have all happened before he was in the League of Shadows.

Her musing was interrupted by a man approaching her table. Her eyes left Bane and fixed on the other man with recognition. His beard had been shaved but there was no forgetting his cold eyes. The man from Arkham Asylum. She sat straight, her muscles suddenly tense. He stopped and stood at the opposite side of the table, looking down at her.

"Hello." he greeted kindly.

Pilar said nothing but only stared darkly up at the man. He had a small mouth that was pulled in a half smile. His light brown hair was parted to the side and his eyes were no longer red like they had been in Arkham. Overall, he looked much better than when she first encountered him. But, she didn't like his smile. She didn't like his eyes, red or not. It made her want to find a hole to hide in. She thought about the last time she had felt those eyes on her, during the shower incident. It caused her jaw to clench.

"You've become quite a beacon for attention. They all have something or other to say about you, but I don't think any of them have spoken to you, have they?" he questioned.

He spoke like Bane. Articulate. Well-mannered. So very different from the way the other men spoke. Gentle. But she could only think that it was all a ruse. He simply stood there. Possibly waiting for an invitation to sit with her, but she never gave it.

"So, what's your name?"

"I have no name." the answer came so easily.

The man only smiled, not offended in the least.

"It must be nice to have no name; to have the liberty to be whoever you wish. Not many others can claim to have that." he paused. Stared curiously down at her. "You can call me Dorcha."

She found herself growing curious over a particular subject.

"Why aren't you at Arkham?" she questioned.

He raised a brow before chuckling, "I have alternating shifts with another man. There use to be more men, allowing me more days of rest, but the Joker's presence is very, hmm, _daunting_… to say the least. Only certain men can withstand to be in his presence for extended periods of time and not be manipulated."

She frowned, "What do you mean?"

"He preys on the weak-minded, the Joker. He knows exactly what to say, and to whom, to get what he wants. There were men who were not, hmm, competent in being able to brush off his words. Three men have died guarding him. By going mad and turning on each other. Another tried to help the Joker escape. "

"But you are competent?"

He chuckled darkly but said nothing.

"How is the Joker now?"

The man shrugged, "In one piece. He's now in strict confinements. In a cell that he cannot lay down or stand up straight in; a _cage_, more or less. We had to put the straight jacket back on. He was ripping out the _stitches_ on his face."

"Would I ever be able to see him? Speak to him… alone?" she questioned in a low tone.

"Curious, are you?" he gazed knowingly at her. "Be careful with that, girl with no name. That can lead to a dangerous path, especially when it involves madmen. Hmm, well enjoy the rest of your meal."

He gave her a nod and walked passed the table. She watched him as he left.

Not a man that she enjoyed. No, not at all. But she wanted to know more. The Joker had said things. Things she wanted him to elaborate. About the trigger. About harboring young _girls_. What did that even mean? The more she pondered and imagined the implications, the more sick she felt. She couldn't eat the rest of her food.

* * *

_The mist rolled in. A fog so thick it turned everything white. She had no idea where she was, or where to go, but her body seemed to know. Walking on its own accord, like being brought in by a fishing reel, towards an unknown destination. There was no sound. Not even the echo of her own footsteps. Something was forming in front of her. Taking even clearer shape with each step. Cement steps leading up to a small stoop. She sat on the middle of the steps. Something told her she knew these. The cracks and fallen pieces of cement tickling her distant memory._

_She was home._

_She turned around to see the front door manifest itself, but she did not get up. Something told her she was not meant to go in. Not yet. _

_She looked back into the fog. She suddenly knew why she was here._

_She was waiting for someone._

_Something was taking shape in the fog once more. Except this shape was approaching her. The outline became more distinct and she could tell it was a man, but his appearance was still hidden by the fog. Only when he was at the foot of the steps did the mist clear away. _

_It was her father. He was wearing the same suit he had worn to work the very same day that Bane made himself known. The suit was torn in a few places. A part of his face had been burned. The skin black and red as if still fresh._

_"Pilar."_

_Her eyes fluttered close as he said her name. When she opened them again, he was sitting beside her on the steps. The good side of his face purposely turned towards her and his hands clasping his knees. In the back of her mind, she knew there were questions. So many questions she had to ask him, but they all seemed to drift away from her mind like gently flowing water. This was not the time for her questions, something told her._

_She looked at her father and felt deep longing. She had missed him. Her hand went to his. Looking for warmth. Looking for comfort. But when her hand touched his, she didn't feel skin. She didn't feel warmth. There was only air. Emptiness._

_She jerked her hand away and stared at her father in misery. It wasn't fair. Why couldn't she touch him?_

_"I'm sorry, Pilar. I'm sorry I couldn't make it home to you." _

_She had almost forgotten the sound of his voice. Gentle and deep._

_"You are filled with pain and anger, I understand. You find hope in only a single thing. Do not go through with it, Pilar. Revenge will not make it go away." he warned._

_"There are men who deserve to die." she responded tonelessly._

_"That is only what the man in the mask has told you. Killing Bane will not bring me back and it will not make me happy. Hurting those men who hurt you, will not erase the memories of what they've done."_

_"What am I supposed to do? Let them walk around and continue hurting people?" _

_Her father gave a shake of his head, "Do you dream, Pilar? What do you dream of?" he asked._

_"Mr. Wesley. Him screaming. Gargling. Scratching up at my legs." she tried to swallow a lump in her throat. "His face won't go away." she whispered._

_Her father leaned towards her, "Exactly." he stressed. "The people you hurt will stay with you for an eternity. You are not your brothers. Your conscious is a lot stronger. Protect it, Pilar. Do not become like him." he left his spot beside her and opted to kneel in front of her. His dark eyes gazing powerfully into her own._

_"Do not become like the man in the mask." he warned._

_A darkness was beginning to creep in the distance, like a violent storm rolling through. Her father turned around to see it. "I have to go." _

_He gave her a solemn look before standing up and taking a few steps backward from the cement stoop. His hands went into his pant pockets, standing leisurely as if waiting for a bus. She stood up as well, wishing to run at him. Hug him. Not let go. She didn't want him to go. She wanted this to be real. She wanted him to be around. She wanted him to hug her. She wanted to be a daughter again._

_But she couldn't. She couldn't leave the steps._

_"Dad, please." she sobbed but no tears would come._

_He gazed at her with his kind eyes. The darkness was enveloping him now. Slithering over his feet and up his legs. His body melting into the black._

_"There's no need to cry, Pilar." his soft voice cradled her as the darkness took his chest and arms._

_"I'll come back. I promise." the darkness took his face and he was gone._

* * *

**Bane**

A noise awoke him. An angry rasping that echoed in the hall. His eyes blinked open. Immediately alert and aware of his surroundings. He tossed off his covers and left the cot. He knew the sounds. He knew where he came from.

He stood still and gazed through the bars of the girl's cell. The lights were out, but the darkness was a friend to his eyes. He could see her sitting up, back to the wall with her own arms ensnared around her legs. She breathed out an angry rasp once more. The sound of a person attempting to contain their emotions. The sound of a young girl desperately trying not to cry.

He unlocked her door and stepped in. She neither looked at him or spoke as he stepped in front of her bed. He knew she woke up many times in the night. Thee to four hours of sleep was all that he required each night, the rest was spent meditating. Her mumbling and moaning would leak into the hallway. Permeate through the bars and irritate his meditation. He would hear her wake up with a gasp and fall back asleep shortly after. Almost every night she did this. Not tonight. Tonight she was seething with anger.

"What wakes a girl in the night?" he asked softly.

In the dark, he saw her fingers flex and pinch deeper into the skin on her arms.

"Do you believe in ghosts?" she asked in scratchy voice.

He was very conscious of the silence. The sound of his distorted breathing the only thing pulsating through it.

"Ghosts are only fragments of the dead that the living cannot let go of."

She released a shuddering breath, "I can't let go. If I let go, I'll be lost."

"Your society has numbed you. Your society has bred you to forget _who_ you are. How could a girl not be lost?"

She shook her head viscously, rubbing her forehead into her knees. "No, no! _You_ have made me forget who I am!"

"You were lost before you even knew my influence." he drawled venomously. Her nostrils flared and he could hear the sound of her teeth grinding dangerously.

"I would like to go back to sleep." the girl said in a terse voice.

His eyes lingered on her. Her mouth was pressed against her knees. Her brows knitted harshly together as she looked downward. With all of her tiresome whining, he had to remember. He once felt like she did. Abandoned. Hateful towards the world and his own predicament. Alone. Afraid.

He lifted his arm. Placed the tip of his forefinger on her rounded hairline, before lazily trailing down to the point between her eyebrows. He observed her eyes flutter close and the muscles in her face relax, if only a little bit.

He wished she could comprehend, all that she could be, if she let the fear in her die.

"Have you ever wanted something so bad and you get it, but it's not how you wanted it?"

She looked up at him as he dropped his arm and allowed it to hang by his side. Once again, his breathing was a rhythm in the silence. He thought about Talia. He thought about his freedom. The two things he had longed so strongly for.

He had been imprisoned for so long that he had forgotten what it felt like to walk as a free man. He was only a boy when he had been thrown into the darkness. Every night, every day, every waking moment, he would dream of being able to escape. But he never escaped. He sacrificed his physical well-being to help Talia. He had been liberated by Talia's father only by her request. He had been freed in the sense of the word that he was no longer incarcerated. He pledged his life to serve the League of Shadows and its leader. Exchanging one set of shackles for another. All for Talia. He was excommunicated, yet he still wore shackles. He would always wear her shackles.

No, this is not how he had wanted it at all.

In the darkness, he could see the girl looking up at him. Her eyes were so dark, but they could glisten so fiercely, just as they were now.

"Of course." he answered simply.

"All I want is to see my dad, to be able to hug him. But, in my dreams, I can't even touch him. I can't feel him and he can't feel me. Because he's dead. But I can feel _you_." she looked bitterly up at him. She lifted her hand and pushed her fingers against his thin clothed chest. He frowned as she did so. Watching her hand clench as if to claw at him, but she had no nails to do so.

"The one thing I want is to be able to touch someone I love, instead I have _you_. The person who killed him." her voice was thick with hatred.

She withdrew from him again. Coiling her arms around her legs and directing her poisonous stare to the corner of the cell. No responses came. Her impudence was valid after all. His arrival to her city was the cause of her father's death. He could empathize her bitterness, yet he felt no guilt. He took something away from her that cannot be replaced. He was only reminded that in spite of any master and apprentice bonding they had, she would always despise him.

Soundlessly, he exited her cell and locked it behind him. Left her to burn in the dark.

* * *

**Pilar**

Even after Bane left her to solitude, she couldn't sleep for the rest of the night. The dream she had went on repeat inside her head. She missed her father so much and speaking to him had felt so real. When she woke up, she knew it was no ordinary dream. It had felt so _different_. In a normal dream, things felt out of her control like she was floating with the tide. This dream felt very… present. Was her dad visiting her in her sleep? She wasn't one to believe in those things. She knew that when someone died they were gone. Forever and always. Nothing more. Never more. Yet, the dream…

The words her father said to her were scratched into the thickness of her skull. He didn't want her to hurt Bane and he didn't want her to hurt those awful men. The confliction bred a thick anger in her chest. _Why? Why? Why!_

She wanted to cry hot tears. Her hands clenching angrily with her poor beaten fingers protesting all the while.

She wanted to know what to do. There were no police. There was no true court system. There was no longer a prison. She ate and slept in the very place those men deserved to rot in. There was no justice left in Gotham. Death should serve as justice. But, he had warned her not to.

_"Do not become like the man in the mask." _ the voice rang in her head.

Was her dad watching from somewhere? Was he disappointed? Disgusted? Ashamed of the stranger that she dared to become? Apprenticing under the very man who had destroyed her city and her life.

She pressed her face against her pillow, attempting to shut out the sickening guilt, before rolling over to her side and facing the wall. How was she to do what her dad wished her, yet still satiate her sense of justice? Maybe there was no way. Maybe that is just one of the things about life. Burying your own wants._ Suffocating them. Drowning them. Beating them bloody. _Burying them so you may fulfill the wants of others.

The prospect left her feeling empty. She was suddenly sensitive to the cold that was biting at her ears and neck. She shimmied underneath her old blanket, tugging it over her head and creating a cocoon.

_"An entity awaiting to be born."_ she smiled fondly at this notion, before being quickly disenchanted when she remembered who had said it.

This was what she always wanted, wasn't it? To make her dad happy? Her dad believed in achieving peace without shedding blood. In her dream, he warned her against hurting others. Their blood would cling to her soul and stay with her for an eternity. So, she will abide.

Her eyes blinked and stared dully into the darkness, her body making the blanket cocoon hot and airless. This was what she always wanted, wasn't it? Then why did she feel like she was betraying herself? Her mind grew silent. Lacking any answers as she lay in her cot.

From the next cell over, she could hear Bane moving around. Possibly making his after-meditation oatmeal, which means early morning was approaching. She thought about when he touched her. Just a single fingertip, but it blazed as it had trailed down her forehead.

When she woke up in the middle of the night, she had wished it was her father who would come comfort her with words and touch. Instead it was Bane. She had allowed herself for a moment to be lulled by the rare reassuring touch he bestowed her, before being wracked with bitterness and guilt causing her to snap at him. She hated him. She didn't want him. Yet, he was the one who protected her from other men. He was the one teaching her about the world, about how to fight. He was the one telling her about his past.

It wasn't fair. It just wasn't fair. She'd rather him treat her cruelly. Anything other than this.


	7. Chapter 7

******************Disclaimer:** I do not own Batman or any characters created by Bob Kane or Chuck Dixon. This story is based off the trilogy by Christopher Nolan with tidbits of the comics laced in.

* * *

**Bane**

He walked slowly around the girl as she trained. The nightstick heavy in his hand. The tip tapping idly against his leg as he went. No inane questions. No snarls of hatred. No impatient grumblings. During meal times, during rest, during reading time; there was only silence. The girl had said nothing for days and seemed keen on continuing her silence. To his distress, he found it infuriating.

He did not spar with her. He did not touch her. He only spoke to her through barking orders on what to do next. He cruelly pushed her. Her jumpsuit was soaked and he could see her trembling. There were no breaks. He had her back doing finger strengthening exercises after bruising them only not that long ago. He knew she was feeling the pain, but she hardly showed it. A few grimaces here and there, otherwise her face was a slate.

_"That is when you will feel pain, see that it is there, and not mind it." _he once said to her.

He felt a spasm of pride at the realization that one of his lectures was sinking in. He wondered if she had finally grown to love her own suffering. He wondered if she realized that her pain creates strength. He wondered if she would be thankful for her hatred, because it is that which gives her fortitude. She should be thanking Bane for many things, but she will not. She will never, he knew. She would never forgive him.

So what if she did not? There needn't be any attachment between them. It would serve his plans best if she despised him. Just a girl. Just a _dog_. Something to envelope his time while he was stuck in Gotham.

"Bane!"

He stood and turned towards the door just as Barsad marched in. He could tell by the younger man's expression that something troublesome had occurred.

"There is something that requires your attention."

Bane nodded and looked over his shoulder at the girl who had halted her movements.

"Follow."

They quickly made their way back to the cell block. He walked briskly passed her cell and into his own. He tossed on the wool coat over his bullet proof vest and long sleeve shirt. He turned to see the girl standing at his door giving him a curious stare. She would not ask it, but he knew what she wanted to know. She wanted to know why he was not locking her in the cell. He gave her a contemplating look before tossing her his green military jacket. She caught it effortlessly and looked up at him with confusion. "You will me joining me."

The look she gave him was black with contempt. He watched as she dropped his jacket to the ground. He stared at it there. His act of charity on the floor. Bane felt his fingers twitch. Slowly, he walked to the girl and stood toe to toe gazing, eyes boiling, down at her. Her dark eyes were glistening in challenge and her jaw tightened up as it does when she is scared or angry. His hand shot up and snatched that jaw. He dug his fingers into her soft, tanned skin; his hand tight as a vice as he gave her a slight shake.

"Your rudeness is _quite_ unbecoming." his voice grated harshly through his mask as he addressed her. Still she said nothing to him. His eyes flashed as he imagined how easily it would be to snap her jaw and to have blood and teeth flow out of her mouth.

"Do you believe your bitter silence is a punishment for me? You _sad_, little creature. _Give me yourself and your hatred; give me yourself and that pretty rage._ I would ask for nothing less."

She had not flinched when he grabbed her, nor did she lift her hands in an attempt to get out of his grasp. She simply stood beneath his gaze and hold, staring up at him. Apparently unaffected by his words or his physical presence. Bane pursed his lips, an expression hidden from her, before his eyes flickered away from her face and caught Barsad's stare. The younger man blinked and quickly allowed his eyes to drop. Bane let the girl go, shoving her away into the cell bars. He saw his finger marks on her skin.

"I suggest you pick _that_ up… and follow me." he pushed passed her and walked in step with Barsad. He did not look back at her, but he could hear the girl's footsteps following obediently behind their own. His Second in Command cleared his throat before explaining the situation.

"There are special agents who are assisting the above ground officers in tracking the bomb." he reported as they marched.

"How many? From what source did you get this information?"

"We're not sure how many. Talia was able to send message. They are conferring for a meeting in a building on 8th. She said that the Police Commissioner will be in attendance, which will give us a chance to finally apprehend him. In the same building, there are Wayne Enterprise board members hiding out who have been eluding the Court."

"Good." Bane drawled as they reached the doors. He held up a hand to stop Barsad from going on further.

"Grab two other men. The agents will undoubtedly be armed."

The man quickly went back to grab other mercenaries as Bane pushed open the door and walked outside with the girl right behind. A gust swept through the street causing the cold to assault his body. His hands went up to hold the straps of the vest beneath his jacket.

The girl stepped next him on the sidewalk, his green jacket pulled tight around her. He watched her eyes trail up to the sky and then close. Her exhale visible as it clouded into ball before dissipating into the air. He realized that she has not been outside in quite some time. She seemed very peaceful at that moment. Then her eyes reopened and took in the dilapidated state of her city. The muscles in her face noticeably hardened. He caught himself examining her face. The curve of her lips and how her upper lip was fuller than the bottom. How they thinned and tensed when she was angry. He also saw the discoloration on her jaw… from his touch. He felt himself grow surly as his eyes lingered on them.

She felt him staring. Her eyes slid towards him, dark and bubbling hot like tar, and then she turned her back on him. He merely blinked at her, his irritation quick and stormy but not only that. With displeasure, he realized that her silence and crossness with him _did_ hurt him. Why? Because he was fond of the little dog, no matter what he tried to think otherwise. He enjoyed it when she asked questions. He enjoyed it when she told him about her wants and hopes and fears. He enjoyed her sincerity and righteousness, however misplaced they may be. He enjoyed the few times he had seen her smile. It reminded him of someone else. Of another time. A better time.

A drawn out guttural sound warbled through his mask in annoyance for his own thoughts. The door opening behind them thankfully meant Barsad had returned with his men. Bane nodded to his Second in Command and allowed him to lead the way.

* * *

**Pilar**

How long? How long had it been since she was last outside? It was the day she saw the dumpster bodies. The memory was enough to make her stomach roll. She tried to push away the image and remember how long that had been. Definitely weeks ago. Months? Maybe.

She felt a hollowness within her as she marched behind the group of men. Her eyes flickering every now and again to the tall collar that obscured the back of Bane's head. She opened and closed her jaw, massaging the ache with her fingers. She could feel the sensitive bruises swelling slightly. Recalling what he said, she had to wonder about his outburst. He accused her of punishing him. Did he truly take such offense to her silence? It would only mean that he truthfully did enjoy her company, regardless of the snarling remarks on loving her hatred.

How should that make her feel? Should she feel anything at all? Bane was her protector and her teacher. He was also her jailer and her father's murderer, as well as the murderer of countless others. She despised herself for any sentiment she felt for him. And she _did_ have sentiment. She enjoyed them speaking. She enjoyed learning about him. She enjoyed listening to his stories about countries and cultures far, far away. She enjoyed the books he assigned her to read. She enjoyed the fact that he killed a man for simply degrading her.

Her jaw tightened up and she blew air through her nose in annoyance. She pushed those thoughts out of her head as she continued to follow the group. Her eyes trailed her surroundings. Dismal.

It was still hard for her to believe that this was Gotham. Even the Narrows never looked as bad. They passed a man slumped against a trashcan who wore a mink coat over his assortment of tattered rags. He reeked of urine and infection, but at least he was enjoying the spoils of Marshal Law.

She paused to stare at him, wondering if he was alive, before peeling off something wet that was sticking to her sneaker. It appeared to be an old vacationing brochure. There was a picture of a powdery blue sky with lazy white clouds and elegant palm trees. There was a beach. A clean beach, that had sand leading to clear water. All being enjoyed by a man and a woman. The brochure gave her chest a dull ache.

For some reason, the heaviness of everything seemed to hit her. The stupid relic of an old life. Everything has changed. Gotham can never be the way it was. Her life could never be the way it was. She didn't understand why the realization felt so powerful at this moment. The moment as she stared at an old brochure and a man swaddled in rich clothes laid not too far away.

After all this time, it still felt like going with the flow. Being captured in a rolling river and just allowing it to take her anywhere… until she finally sees an oncoming waterfall. She felt suddenly very helpless and alone as she looked back at the people in it. They looked so happy. So blissful.

That was what all people wanted, wasn't it? To be in bliss. To escape their every day hell and runaway to one of the few places on Earth that wasn't choked and rotting? Then you realize that to run away, it costs money. What can you do if you have no money? There is no escape.

A shuddering breath flowed from her lips. Her eyes burned with tears as she thought that they all might as well be in a cage.

"There is no escape for them."

She whipped around to see Bane looking over her shoulder. She leered at him, incredulous at his coincidental choice of words. He ignored her stare and looked down at the homeless man as if he were a misfortunate dog.

"They were all given the chance for something great. They squandered it, as expected. The ones standing on the shoulders of others, trampled and crushed to be replaced with new ones. The cycle will continue. They had the chance to take back their city… but there is no escape for them."

He looked at her then. His eyes glinted with amusement.

"No escape from their mediocrity." he concluded.

* * *

**Bane**

Bane felt the man struggle to breathe beneath his weight. His dark hand flopped useless onto Bane's thigh and then the life behind his eyes was gone. Bane pressed his hand unceremoniously into the dead man's face to help push himself back up.

The Police Commissioner had fled before he was able to be obtained. That did not concern Bane. The man was like an insect scuttling around in the dark as he tried to form some kind of resistance. He was a mere nuisance. The government sending agents in right beneath their noses was different. That threat had been effectively stomped out.

He looked towards Talia and the man, Lucius Fox. Talia was herself and not herself as she stood with the group of board members. A different woman's expression painted on her face. A woman who was weak and felt fear as she gazed at the masked man named Bane. He could look upon her and almost forget the poison that lurked underneath her milky skin. Almost.

"Round them up for judgment and hang _them_-" he pointed to the dead federal agents "-where the world can see."

Being a man who has his sense of smell dulled by the constant apparatus strapped to his face, Bane was more sensitive with his other senses. Most impressively, his hearing. Before seeing, he heard. He heard the scuffing of boots and the rustle of clothes as someone reached into the inside of their jacket. He turned just as a young man pulled out a .357 revolver and pointed it in Bane's direction. In the short time it takes a man to extend his arm and twitch his finger to fire a bullet, he was stopped.

What Bane saw was recorded in his mind and he could watch it over and over. She had come up from behind the man, silent and deadly like a cat she twisted around. Her hand closed around the man's wrist, rolled it causing him to drop the weapon. Before the gun hit the ground, her leg swung up. In a swift, elegant kick she hit the man in the elbow causing it to break and bend inverted. Blood and bone. The gun hit the floor and the man fell with it. Howling in pain. One of Bane's mercenaries quickly kicked away the revolver and shot the man in the head.

The girl. The street urchin. The dog. She stood above the dead body and slowly backed away. Their eyes caught one another. The room was gone. There was only the girl's face. The emotions storming trying to cope with what she just did. Not just to the man, but for Bane.

She had saved Bane's life.

He felt his heart thundering in his chest.

* * *

**Pilar**

In the quiet of her cell, Pilar walked through the chambers in her mind. She remembered seeing the man. She remembered seeing him as he approached Bane from behind. She remembered being the only one seeing him. The other mercenaries preoccupied at staring avidly at their leader. She remembered feeling time slow down as she saw the flash of the revolver. She remembered moving. Everything else happened so rapidly that it was only a blur in her memory. The sight of the man's arm was not blurry though. It was sharp and nauseating to remember. As was the image of his skull after the bullet went through it.

She tried to put reasoning behind her actions.

_It was a reaction. Instinct took over. I had to save Bane. I had to save him because that man was about to take away my revenge._

None of it settled well with her though. None of it felt true.

It could have all been over. The man could have fired. The bullet run straight into Bane's eye and exited out the back of his head and it could have all been over. She would have been free. Her city would have been free. Instead, she interfered. Instead, she saved the life of the man who had been terrorizing hers.

_Bane is needed. To complete the training, he is needed._

More reasonings arose. More excuses to elevate her guilt. She pushed her face into her pillow to escape her shame. A familiar sound caused her to open her eyes. The sound of her cell door being unlocked. She neither moved or rolled over on her cot to see her visitor. She knew it was him. She stared at the wall as she felt the cot dip beside her, the springs screeching at his weight. The cot was small, causing him to sit close to her body. His presence was far from threatening at this moment though. The air was warm around him. Calm.

"You're filled with hate because the world has taken someone precious from you and replaced him with me. You designate me as a villain… and I am. Yet you did something today which you would not do for a person you saw as only a villain…" his disembodied voice whispered softly into the darkness. It was as soft as the distortion from his mask would allow.

Her fists clenched desperately beneath her pillow. She did not like him speaking to her like this. It made him appear human. It made him seem like he had _feelings_. Which is a lie. He cannot have feelings. He is a monster. A self-admitted villain.

"Do you know what I see when I look at you?" he asked the silence.

She felt a lump grow in her throat. Something unidentifiable welling in her. She felt her own eyes boring holes into the wall.

"A lion cub. Born with claws and teeth, the implements of greatness. The promise of something more, something waiting. Yet, rash and infantile, still in need of coaching… but that is not what I saw today. Today I saw the tenacity of the League of Shadows within you."

She felt her lips tighten up and her heart stammer. _A monster_, she had to remind herself. _A monster_. But the word only sent a painful ache through her body and her eyes sting with salt.

The League of Shadows. What all of her training was building up for. He promised her initiation, if she proved herself worthy. He promised her fulfillment. But, for what? For what? What will she do when she is an assassin of the shadows? Kill those who've wronged her? Kill those deserving to die? Kill Bane? She was not sure she even wanted to kill him anymore.

Stiffly, she turned herself in the cot to see him. The weak light from the outside corridor shaped the linings of his body against the dark. His bare back and shoulders faced her. She could see his body gently expanding and contracting with each breath.

She stared and could make out the horrendous scar leading down from the back of his thick neck to the middle of his spine. There were others to. Obvious scars from knives and guns, along with a few burns. Some people may think that they were ugly, but she was fascinated by them. Enamored by them. It made him seem… mortal. Neither a monster or a villain or a god, but a normal man; capable of feeling pain and experiencing death.

She wondered if she would have terrible scars too one day. He tells her often that to be initiated is to serve and to serve until you die… for the greater good. She did not want to die for them. She did not want to die for anybody. Why did he?

She reached up and touched his scars. Wondering how, when, and by who. His muscles tightened, shifting visibly beneath the skin… but he did nothing. Said nothing. She trailed a finger along the gnarled scar on his spine. His body radiated warmth.

"You owe me." her voice unexpectedly cracked when she broke her silence. She had forgotten she had not used it in quite a few days.

His head turned to look over his large shoulder at her. The shadows hid his eyes, but she could see the way his brow furrowed and knew he was not keen to the idea. A warbling sound verbalized his consent as his head turned away once more. She retracted her hand. Placing it instead over her stomach.

"The Joker said that you have taken others before. Girls. What did he mean by that?"

He was visibly irritated. She saw his fingers scissor together against his pant leg.

"Only one. She was not '_taken away'_ by me." he corrected. His tone of voice implied disgust over the thought of abducting girls.

"I want to know about her." she urged.

"Out of all the possibilities to request, you request stories." he growled in to the dark. "Request something else." he ordered her. She exhaled a long sigh. Her hands slipping up and behind the back of her head to give her more support. She knew what else she wanted.

"Then I want to be able to go." she offered.

She could hear his breathing change. Angry and heavy. His fingers fiddled against his pant leg once more. She knew then. She knew immediately. He did not want her to walk away. He did not want her to leave. But why? She irritated him. He hated her, didn't he? He was a monster, wasn't he? A monster who told her she had the capabilities to do great things. A monster who told her she was fierce like a lion cub. A monster who taught her not to be afraid of the world and how to defend herself.

She had to clear her throat when she noticed how uncomfortably tight it became.

"You will just be another body in this city…" he mumbled numbly into the dark. She frowned as she looked up into the ceiling. He thought she would die if she left. He thought she would die without his protection. Did he not want her die? The notion made her stomach squirm.

"My father…" he spoke again, slowly. She blinked with disbelief that he would rather tell her his secrets than let her go. "…was a devious man who committed unspeakable acts. Before getting caught, he fled. It was decided that I, a boy of eight, should be punished for my father's atrocities. Such injustices are common in other parts of the world." his voice was tainted with resent.

"Prison was where I grew. Prison was where I had to fight to survive. I fought and killed and would come out alive, but with each victory more years were added. Solitary confinement was my home for several years until I turned eighteen. I was a young man and I had to accept that I would one day die in prison. No hope for anything else. No hope for anything good. Never to see the world again… Devastated and enraged, I had a fit of temper which resulted in the deaths of five prisoners and two prison guards. That was when I was sent to the Pit."

She knew this place. He had recounted about it before. A prison carved into the earth in a well-like structure. A freedom so within reach but unobtainable, to torture its inhabitants.

"There was a girl in the prison. No older than ten, she was _born_ there. Bloomed in the dark and walked with the same injustice I once did. Our chains had been bound because of the fault of another. Her mother was also imprisoned with her and one day, during a riot, they were attacked by men. I saved the girl but the mother perished. When I previously had no hope for anything good, I suddenly did. I took care of her and made sure she never went cold or hungry."

His breathing paused and the silence seemed to ring in the cell. She could almost feel her body humming as she waited for him to continue speaking.

"I protected her until the day we decided she could no longer stay. I helped her escape, during which I was severely beaten and received my back injury. As I laid alone in blood and splintered bone and everlasting agony, I was able to think of the single good act I have ever committed and felt cleansed. She was free and she was going to live a happy, normal life."

He fell silent, lost in his memories perhaps. Leaving her to lay in the silence and allowing the story to sink in. Her thumb and forefinger idly twisted on a short strand of hair.

"What was her name?" she hesitantly inquired.

Bane seemed to come back to her then. He looked over his shoulder once more at her. She still could not see his eyes but she could feel their piercing stare.

"Talia."

"Did you ever see Talia again?"

The air around him was no longer calm, but dark and sullen.

"…No. She died a long, long time ago."

He left in his usual fashion. Without a word. She continued to lay on the cot as she listened to the door creak close. There was a hiccup in his usual swift movements though. A pregnant pause between closing the door and turning the key to lock her in. He has never done that before.

Pilar curled on to her side and pulled her blanket over her as she thought of his story. After the Joker's tale, she imagined the worst. That Bane was some sick child rapist… but he loved that girl. He almost died for the sake of her freedom. He was human, no matter what she wanted to believe. A human who has done terrible, awful things; but also a human who has felt love and loss. A human who has felt sorrow and helplessness. It made her feel strange to know this side of him, when half a year ago she only knew him from stories by other people. A vague and colossal devil, who strutted around wreaking havoc. Now he more than that. Frighteningly so.

Pilar wondered about the girl named Talia, frowning as she did. She tried to understand how grievously upset Bane had been. Upset that the girl whom he risked so much to save had ended up dying anyways.

What a waste.

* * *

**Bane**

He watched her. The red lips that were bold against her fair skin. The long lashes that curled to her finely sculpted eyebrows. The slender, beautiful hands. The long legs and the curve of her chest and waist. Her image never failed to mesmerize him. Every time he looked at her, he felt himself falling in love over and over again. Then, with a sudden rush and coldness, it would be gone as she spoke to him.

"Barsad told me about your creature."

The dark blue eyes flashed at him.

"We are not here to adopt strays."

They were in the vandalized women's lavatory of the Courthouse. Just after leaving the girl's cell, he was confronted by Barsad whom was passing along Talia's command to convene with him. This was where he waited in the dark until she snuck away from her group of captive board members. His hands gripped the edges of the heavy porcelain sink after she spoke to him, finally releasing it when he heard it begin to crack. He wanted to steer the conversation away from the girl. Talia obviously did not approve of her existence in his life and that was a dangerous thing.

He turned to her, his back straight and body at full height.

"You believe I have _forgotten_? You believe it has slipped my mind the reasons behind our _years_ of preparation and patience? I think you wish to believe me a fool." he drawled with malice.

Her lips curled up and she gazed at him with her hardened stoicism. He despised that look.

"You do tend to become drunk with the power of leadership, Bane. I am only making sure you do not deter from our objective. We are here to fulfill my father's work and avenge his death."

"Do not condescend me, as if I were another one of your followers." he snapped. His face was scrunched in a snarl, making the mask irritate the skin around his nose. He gave a stiff shake of his head at her. "You tell me lies and still expect me to follow you into the dark."

"Lies?" she inquired with amusement.

His eyes darkened with anger as he leaned against the wall. His arms folded as he chose his words,

"Many nights, I would find myself wondering about what would become of us when all this is finished. In my most dearest of hopes, I had liked to believe that we would be together, finally, with the shadow of your father finally dissolved. But, I knew that is not what you had planned for me, not even close. When this is all done, you will go back to your father and I'll be on the run once again."

From her stance near the door, Talia regarded him with what anyone would perceive as indifference. But not Bane. He knew her too well. Her knew all the subtle changes and twitches.

"Ra's Al Ghul is dead." she insisted.

Bane raised his brows at her, "I may have been convinced if it were not for some information I stumbled across within my time studying under your father. Geographical maps and scrolls of ancient waters… Waters that have the power to heal and _resurrect_."

He watched as Talia tilted her head at him but said nothing.

"They say the Demon cannot die… and now I know why. So, what is the real plan, Talia? When were you scheming to leave me behind and reunite with your father?"

The woman sighed and walked towards the sink, her heels clicking against the floor. Her pale finger traced one of the cracks Bane had just created before looking up into the mirror.

"This is what I owed him. He couldn't come back to Gotham because Bruce would recognize him, so he set his task to me." Her dark blue eyes caught Bane's in the mirror. "He has promised me the League of Shadows when his time comes. Do you understand that significance? The amount of change and good that the League of Shadows could do under the right leader? We could reshape the world." she whispered.

She looked back down to the cracks, her lashes fluttering.

"I needed you, Edmund. In order to make any of this work, I knew I needed you."

Bane dug his fingers through the fabric of his jacket and into his arms. It created a storm in his chest as he thought of what she said.

She needed him. _Needed_.

Bane had not been needed in the entirety of his life. Only while in the Pit. Only when she relied on him for her own survival. She had been the only one who ever needed him… who showed him kindness. Well, that was not true _now_, was it? The girl, the little dog… She needed him. She needed him to teach her how to destroy her fears. She needed him to protect her. He had been nothing but harsh to her, yet she speaks to him kindly. She sees him as a human being and not just Bane...

He pursed his lips and looked back towards Talia. He was not too sure to even trust her words. She has grown into something poisonous and knew very well how to manipulate him… she has been doing it for a long time after all.

"You merely speak things you believe I wish to hear… but if you think your father would ever hand over leadership to you when 'his time comes' then you truly _are_ a fool." he snarled.

Her eyes flashed back up at him, reflective with newly frozen ice. She turned away from the mirror to look at him face to face.

"Your father loves his power and he plays you by encouraging you to lust for your own. So you become just another one of his simple minded minions in hopes that daddy will reward you. You go so far as to betray me… After all I have given for you. I gave you my _life_." Bane growled with resentment.

He thought about what could have been if he had never sacrificed himself for her. His back would still be in tact. His breathing would be normal… but he would still be in the Pit and he would have remained as worthless as dirt. Even after all the suffering and pain and heartache, he would always choose Talia. She had saved him. She had given him a purpose.

"But it does not matter… " he pushed off the wall and stood before her. She looked up at him with a curious stare. "Even if given another choice, I would continue to sell you my soul and give my life to you day after day after day…" his voice trailed off, melancholy with the confession. "…because I have nothing else good to live for."

She looked away from him, as she did whenever she was uncomfortable with his feelings. He felt the familiar emptiness in his chest and cultivated it. He allowed the feeling to fill his body and give him a reminder… to remember that his heart belongs to someone so frigid and indifferent… and that he gave it to her so willingly. It was true what he had told the girl. The Talia he knew and remembered was dead.

"What do you want from me?" she demanded in a whisper, yet still she would not look at him.

He could not fathom her lack of understanding. "Acknowledgement." he explained.

She blinked her lashes and peered up at him. But, his emptiness was heavy upon him and he felt nothing as he stared back. He calmly pushed passed her and gripped the door handle.

"Bane." her soft voice caused him to pause, but he did not turn around.

"The girl… When the time comes, she _stays_." Talia declared resolutely.

* * *

**Pilar**

_"He's watching you."_

As her dreams were ripped violently from her, the words clung to her softly in her father's voice. She twitched in her cot and her eyes shot open. She felt the unmistakable warmth of a body against her back and the dip in the cot which told her someone was sitting beside her. She felt her body relax when she heard the distorted exhales of Bane. Her father had known he was sitting next to her. How long had he been watching? _Why_ was he watching? How much longer will he stay?

"What is your name?" he asked, knowing she had awoken.

"I have no name." see answered obediently.

His hand appeared in her visage, gently placing an item in one of her cupped hands before it disappeared. Her hand closed around the object, recognizing its shape immediately as a key. She felt her heart thunder in her chest.

"I've told you what I see when I look at you… but I did not describe to you who you were today." he began.

"When you did what you did, at that moment, you were not a dog. Not a _mere_ girl… You had a name. You were an interloper of fate." he whispered. She felt the tears unmercifully burn her eyes and, before she could stop them, they were trickling out. Running over her cheek, nose, and lips. She was thankful that Bane could not see them.

"I do not know why you did it…" his voice trailed off. The words hung in the air unanswered by both of them. It drifted away to the dark void where all unanswerable questions go. Bane breathed heavily before continuing, "You are not my prisoner. I cannot force you to be what you have no desire for. Your door will no longer be locked and you are free to go or free to stay."

Pilar's hand squeezed tightly around the key. _Freedom_. She allowed the word to fill her whole.

"If your decision is to go, I can promise that there will be nothing out there for you. Only disappointment."

Her eyes reopened as he said this and Pilar attempted, in vain, to swallow the lump in her throat. The cot creaked once again as he leaned over her. She could hear the sound of his distorted breathing next to her ear. She was conscious of the heat coming off his chest that loomed over the side of her body.

"Do not deign yourself to mediocrity. Do not opt for wasting away with Gotham."

The bed creaked once again. She did not hear his footsteps but when she rolled over, he was gone. The cot was still warm where he sat and in his stead he had left his green military jacket neatly folded.

He was gone and the door was left open. She stared blankly at it. The light from the hallway beckoning her. She tried to listen for Bane in his cell, but she heard nothing. She stood up, grabbing the jacket as she did, and wiped her tears away. Hesitantly, she stepped to the doorway.

She wondered if it was some kind of cruel joke. That she would walk out and one of the mercenaries would stop her. But nothing happened. She walked into the light and she was not attacked. The key was still clenched tightly in her fist. The hall was quiet. Empty. Only the buzzing of electricity and the faint dripping of pipes somewhere in the distance. The cell to her left was also open. Bane's cell… but he was not there.

She found herself wishing he did not slip away into the dark. She wished she had said something. She wished she could have seen his eyes when he said all those things to her. Instead of running away, she felt her feet cemented to the floor in front of her cell. She was afraid to leave. Afraid to leave safety and normalcy. That was what the bars had become to her. This was home wasn't it?

_No_, she told herself. _Home is with the front steps, dad's books, and the mice._

Had she become so brainwashed that she couldn't even run away from her own cage with the key in hand? That was not who she wanted to be anymore.

She exhaled slowly. Pilar unfolded the jacket and swung it on.

She ran and she didn't look back.


	8. Chapter 8

**********************Disclaimer:** I do not own Batman or any characters created by Bob Kane or Chuck Dixon. This story is based off the trilogy by Christopher Nolan with tidbits of the comics laced in.

**A/N: **I'm so awful for making you guys wait this long for an update. Forgive me! Believe me when I say I try! Anyways enjoy this long chapter!

* * *

**Bane**

100… 101… 102… 103…

He counted the numbers in his head as he kept a steady, fluid pace. One thousand push ups. One thousand pull ups. One thousand sit ups. One thousand weighted squats. One thousand burpees. One thousand bicep curls. One thousand leg lifts. One thousand bench presses and dead lifts. Thirty second breaks in between while doing wall sits.

This was what he had been doing since he returned to find the girl's cell empty; tearing apart the Blackgate's prisoner gym. He permitted her to decide and she chose accordingly, taking his jacket that he had left for her. It was expected, he knew it. Of course he did, that is why he initially refused and opted to reveal his story about Talia. He knew immediately that she would run away and become just another bloody mess in the foundations of the new city to be. She was worth more than that however. She deserved more. She could have been initiated. She could have…

He did not know what else. He did not even know what he would have done with her if she stayed. Where would he take her after Gotham's demise? He knew where _he_ wanted to go. The place marked with a red X on his maps. A place he had discovered its whereabouts while studying beneath Ra's Al Ghul. The only Lazarus Pit on the eastern side of North America. Go there, he shall, and bathe in the waters. Emerge as a man without a mask. He would have brought the girl with him and she would have joined him being a mercenary.

Not anymore. Now she was gone. If he desired, he could easily track her down. Bring her kicking, screaming, and crying. Bind her up and toss her into darkness. If only to just keep her safe. If only to just keep her alive until Gotham burned. But he didn't want her kicking and screaming. He wanted her to…

It does not matter. She has chosen her fate… and the time grows near.

1000…

Bane allowed the dumbbell to fall to the floor. The clamor of metal against cement rang in the room. He closed his eyes and breathed deep, but his mask made his face feel hot and irritated. He had hoped the workout would alleviate the empty, senseless rage that had been ripping through him. But, it did nothing but make him sweat and stink. He itched for a fight. For blood and carnage. He itched for a _real_ fight. A massacre.

Soon enough there will be blood up to his knees.

The time grows near.

"Sir."

His eyes lock with Barsad's as his right hand man comes into the room. The younger man is cautious and gives Bane his space, choosing to stay by the door. He can sense the large man's foul mood.

"It was just radioed in that the girl has been seen walking in the streets. Should personnel be sent after her?" he questioned.

Bane looked away and turned his back to the scruffy mercenary. He approached the bar hang. His hands gripped the metal and he lifted his feet from the floor. He started redoing his one thousand pull ups.

"She has escaped because I've allowed her to… I no longer care for her as a prisoner." he answered.

It was a truthful answer. He no longer cared for her as a prisoner. He had not thought of her as one for quite a while. Instead, she became a life he had to take care of and coach. He, admittedly, became swept up in it. First, in the sadistic pleasure of the thought that she would be the one to kill the Batman. How it would rip his soul in two that one of the innocent people he promised to protect had become transformed into something terrible. Then, it changed. At a certain point, his plans changed and he no longer cared about the Batman's death. The girl had made him soft. The relationship reminded him too much of his and Talia's… and look how toxic that became. It did not matter now how or why he cared. The girl was gone and he could not save her from imminent doom.

"They said she was seen walking in the direction of Arkham."

Bane paused in his pull ups; hanging in silence. He lowered his feet slowly back to the ground. His hands still in a tight grip around the metal bar.

"Radio the man on shift. Alert him to a possible break in." Bane ordered.

Barsad nodded and gripped the radio at his shoulder.

"Dorcha." he spoke in to it.

The line was met with silence. Bane's hands dropped to his sides and closed his eyes in quiet anger.

"Dorcha, do you copy?"

The static filled the room and Barsad looked apprehensively at his commanding officer.

* * *

**Pilar**

She did not know what she was expecting. Some sort of ultimate clarity once she walked free? The answers to her questions suddenly falling into place? There was none of that… Nothing. She felt even more disconnected than before. She walked with no real destination. No goal or purpose. It left her feeling itchy and restless. She thought about heading back home, but she found the thought undesirable. She wasn't ready to hide in the dark just yet. It was early morning, before the sun rise. It was still very dark and the moon dominated the clouded sky.

So, where should she go? She felt like she traded her small cage for an even larger one.

What does a caged dog do?

These people. These liberated citizens. Bane had given them a chance to recreate the city, but society showed its true face. Ugly and violent, with no lust for structure. They would rather live in disorder. Rob one another. Eject the wealthy from their homes. Kill each other. The rest tuck their tails between their legs and sulk off, hoping not to be noticed. Scared little dogs; just like her.

Bane gave her a chance too… but she ran away, like the little dog others knew her to be.

A thought entered her mind. It came swiftly, as if waiting behind a door for an opportune moment to slip in. She knew where she wanted to go.

She watched the earth move beneath her sneakers. Old, stamped out bubblegum and paper. The filth of a life from what felt like ages ago. Now there is new filth. The usual kind of waste. Every once in a while you'll see something shiny in the gutter. Pearl earrings or a gold rolex. Treasures from the rich that people are beginning to realize have no intrinsic value anymore. Decadence has lost its allure.

Even the smell of the city has changed. It now smelled of grime and urine… and of burning bodies. It was such a peculiar smell. So incredibly distinct. Gotham firefighters were the first to recognize it; the smell triggering memories of charred bodies they were unable to save. Before she was locked up by Bane, she remembered hearing the whispers of it. She thought it was bullshit. Now she knew better. She shivered at the thought; still unable to believe this was how Gotham was now. No laws. No true justice. Bodies burning. How could this still be the same city she was born in? How could this still be the same city she grew up in?

Bane did this. How could she have felt any kind of sentiment for him? He has brought devastation, misery, and death. How could she feel any sort of attachment or attraction to him? He imprisoned her, starved her, abused her physically and mentally. How could she…

Wait. What was that word?

_Attraction_.

She paused her walking for a hiccup of a moment. Made a face of disgust before returning to her course. Absurd. She didn't even want to think of the wretched word in link with Bane ever again.

She walked passed roaming groups, gangs, whatever you would prefer to call them. Sharks swimming around the neighborhoods looking into houses for rations to steal. If they found people, they would attack them and steal their stash, or even expel them if it is a particularly choice location. She saw one group breaking through the lower windows of a duplex. There was screaming coming from inside. She did not intervene. It felt pointless. All so pointless. The waves of injustice were so overpowering, how could she, just a girl, do anything to stop it? _This is human virtue_, Nietzsche said. _This is human madness_.

She wondered if the Batman ever felt this hopeless. Then again… He was actually _good_ at what he did. He was able to unroot the mobs in Gotham. He stopped the Joker. What did she ever do? Pretend to be hero and shoot marbles at people.

She was no hero and she was surrounded by villains of many different calibers.

The iron gate she pushed open was kissed with rust; leaving a ruddy imprint on her palm. She wiped it against her jacket as she stalked silently across the overgrown lawn towards the dark building. The place that held captive true human madness.

Arkham Asylum.

The waxing moon illuminated parts of the building. As she looked up at the structure, she felt something creep into her brain. An uneasiness she could not shake. When she reached the front doors, there was no one. No guard, no mercenary, no member of the League of Shadows. She took it as a sign and slipped quietly in. She felt her heart thundering in her ears as she crept through the hallways. She remembered her training and melded into the shadows and darkness, creating hardly any sound. Her mentor would have been proud.

The quiet disarmed her. It was not the pleasant kind. This silence reminded her of childish nightmares. Of monsters and evil spirits. Though, now she knew there was no such thing as monsters and demons. Only humans… who are even worse. She was tense but yet some type of gravitational force pulled at her. There was a reason to be here.

There were things she could rely on Bane for… or at least she _did_. She could rely on him to keep her safe. She could rely on him to train her and teach her. But she could not rely on him to tell her the truth. That was certain. The Joker knew things. He knew about the little girl. The one named Talia. There was truth in his madness… and she wished to know more.

She was noiseless as she snaked through the corridors. A voice permeated through the thick darkness and silence. She eagerly followed the sound, recognizing it as someone singing.

The room she found him in was dimly lit. Vacant except for the metal barred cage in the center that reached all the way up to the ceiling. The cage was uncomfortably small. It reminded her of the Box she stayed in back at Blackgate. Still, she believed this man did not deserve comfortable living conditions. He wore the same crusted straight jacket she saw him wearing last time. His body was slumped forward. His long, tangled hair obstructed view of his face.

The Joker continued to sing tonelessly,

"_Here I am at a famous school_

_I'm dressin' sharp_

_I'm actin' cool_

_I got a cheerleader here wants to help with my paper_

_Let her do all the work and maybe later I'll rape her_

_Oh God, I am the american dream_"

She frowned as she watched him begin to hit his forehead against one of the bars.

"Oh GOD, I am the American dream!" he repeated in a vicious growl.

He started laughing then and lifted his head up the light. With a cough, she made her presence known to him. His wild eyes turned to her, confused and deranged. She stepped further into the room and he scoffed at her.

"You're a sneaky one. What's your _name_?"

The words were on her tongue before she had a chance to think, "I have no name."

"Ahh, yes. You're just Bane's little _dog_. I remember you." The Joker leered and smiled through broken, brown teeth.

"Where _is_ your master?" she said nothing. His lips curled in a coy manner, "You came alone? _Interesting-uh_." he drawled. "Come to my rescue, perhaps?"

She eyed him warily as she stepped closer to the cage and halted a few feet away. She could _smell_ him. He smelled of filth and coppery blood. The Joker's face was hardly recognizable. She could see the scars from Bane's beating, most notably the one on his chin. But his face now had lacerations as one would get from a knife. Old and crusted, a few of them still oozing even.

"What happened to you?" she questioned.

"Mmm, my warden takes pleasure in the pain of others."

She felt no sympathy stir within her. This was, after all, the Joker. Why should she pity him?

"Don't you think you deserve all of this after what you did?"

"_After what I did_." he grimaces in false guilt. "They called me a terrorist. Isn't it good to feel a bit of terror from time to time? You see, I just _do things_. Not for money, power, or control. You had people doing that all ready in this city. Day after day, month after month, year after year. Right underneath everyone's ignorant noses, but they are not terrorists. They are _businessmen_."

She gave him a look of disgust, "You hurt people. You blew up a hospital. You killed innocent people."

"Mmmm." came his murmur of agreement. "You don't think those _corporate_ mongrels hurt people? They would choke you out, take your life's worth, and walk away. Your city is controlled by people who are controlled by money… It _was_ at least. Your city is controlled by an entirely different beast _now_."

"Bane doesn't control the city. He was only the catalyst. The people run the city now."

"_Who has his finger on the trigger_? That bomb that he dragged out on to the football field… Bane is a funny man. Maybe funnier than me… pulling a prank like that."

The Joker laughed wildly.

She frowned at the madman and took another step towards him. "What prank?"

The Joker bit his lip in excitement. "Hope. The hope we have for our lives… In a matter of no time, we'll all be having pillow fights with Saint Peter!"

She could feel her stomach churning uncomfortably.

"What do you mean?" she questioned with trepidation.

"A bomb of that sort would be too unstable to last forever. It'll explode on it's own."

"When?"

"If my calculations are correct, and I _do_ know my explosives…" his dark eyes looked up. His tongue darted out to wet his bottom lip as he thought to himself. "…one month."

"You're LYING!" she belted as she cast an accusing finger in his direction.

The Joker raised his eyebrows at her, "Lie? Why would I lie? I'm waiting with antici-_pation_ for the clock to tick to midnight. "

She could hardly take in the information. The more she thought about it, the more it made sense. The revolution stirring speeches clashes against Bane's apathy. The real reason he didn't care… was because he knew Gotham would be gone in the near future. What the madman said was true. It was just a huge prank… all on them. It was making her stomach roll and her head dizzy. In one month, Gotham would be gone. So many people… so many innocent lives dying in fire.

Bane had been planning this all along, so what about her? Why did her bring her in, teach her things, open her eyes, and then let her go? He was leaving her to burn with the others. She was just momentary amusement.

She could hear the Joker's voice breaking through her whirlwind of thoughts, "You came here for a reason, didn't you, little dog? What reason would that be?"

She rubbed her forehead distractedly, "When I first saw you, you mentioned something about Bane having a penchant for taking care of young girls. I thought you meant it in a… in a way to mar his character. Then he told me it was true. You knew about the girl that died. I wanted to see what else you knew."

"What I know is how to play the _game-uhh_ and that is what our liege lord is doing. Give hope. Let society unravel and watch the ladies and gentlemen become savages, then pull the rug out from beneath their feet. He plays the game _well_. My birdies tell me many things, little dog… I assume he _told_ you that the girl died?"

"Yes."

"Mmm, that's funny. From what I've been told, Talia is alive and well. In this country. In this city. At the head of the organization Ra's Al Ghul use to lead."

She could feel the Joker's dark eyes on her. Sharp and alert, like a lion watching a gazelle. Observing with relish as her nauseating distress bubbled beneath her skin. She tried to think about why Bane would lie. Why would he hide Talia from her? She was head of the League of Shadows, the organization he had been training her to join. Why did he do this to her? What was the point of all this?

"Why did you do the things you did? If not for money, power, or control?" her voice quivered.

A tongue darted out to lick his chapped, gnarled lips.

"Because I _could_. I don't walk around pretending that life makes sense… that everything goes according to plan. It's all a joke, don't you see?"

"A joke?"

"Everything anybody ever valued or struggled for… A joke. You can, _uh_, see it out _there_. The rich lose their homes and their possessions. The poor take their spoils and soon they will _all_ have nothing. Not even their lives... I did what I did because it's the only thing that makes sense to me."

"You're a monster."

The carved corners of the Joker's lips curled up as he considered the accusation.

"Life makes us what we are. We're all alike. Even you and me… Just trying to find some meaning in a meaningless world."

It was true, wasn't it? All she has ever wanted was to know her place in this life. Bane had said many times that he was the necessary evil of this world, while Batman was the necessary good. She had no concept of what she was meant to be; a girl without a name. But what does it all matter in a meaningless world? Explanations of who we are and why are only false patterns that seep up when we look at life for too long. Maybe there is nothing. Maybe we are all destined to wander, barred forever from knowing why, and forced to invent meaning.

_"Lost." _Bane had called her.

_"Lost even before you knew my influence." _he had said.

And then he played the biggest prank of all on her. He led her on and made her believe that she could actually _do something_ and be… _somebody_. The Joker was right. It was all just a joke. Just a massive joke that would end with everything in ashes. It was all making her chest hurt and her head dizzy.

"Are you afraid, little dog?" The Joker's nasally voice whispered to her. "Do you feel the _crushing _terror of an unstoppable force coming down on us? People use to say, _'I believe in Harvey Dent'_. I believe in the Bat_mannn_. He won't let Gotham _burn_."

She felt empty. Incredibly hopeless and weak and small, "Bane broke the Batman and imprisoned him somewhere far away. He's not going to save us. _No one_ is going to save us."

"None of you people ever seemed to understand. It was never his strength. Or his stealth. Or even his ominous nature. It is, _always-uhh_… his _resolve_. That is why the Batman _is_ feared. Wherever he has been left to rot, he'll come back. Like a cockroach, he'll come back. That is his _nature_. An immovable object. Bane does not understand him like I do and that's why all of this will crumble. Bane's fun will end, as will my _warden's_." he finished with his upper lip curling beneath his nose.

Pilar looked up from the ground. She gazed into his face and he gazed back.

"That man, he's been cutting you up for fun has he?"

The Joker's tongue darted out gliding along the surface of his top row of teeth. "Not just me." he admitted off handedly. "He enjoys to bring _women-uhh_ here. To show me off as his personal freak show." his pointed nose scrunches up. "But his real ploy is far more sinister. He's a very sadistic man, you see."

The Joker's eyes are heavy and black as he stares through the bars at her. "He's told me that he used to be a surgeon. He likes to carve up my face to watch me laugh. Then, he brings the women. He says that I look lonely and that I need some company."

The Joker's eyes trail away and he simply stares blankly at the floor. But, then quickly comes back as he squeezes his eyes shut in laughter.

"In fact, I'm surprised he is not here with you now. He will most likely snatch you on your way out. Like a fly struggling on the string of a web, your presence is so painfully known. Only a matter time before he, _uh_, scuttles from the dark."

Pilar felt the small hairs on her arms stand on end, and her skin tighten uncomfortably beneath the scratchy fabric of the jumpsuit. She realized that her uneasiness did not come from the Joker though. She knew who he was talking about. Dorcha. The man with the ice eyes.

"What does he do to the women? What does he make you watch?" she whispered in dread.

The Joker smiled broadly, his scars twisting his cheeks and the newly scabbed gashes pinching the skin. He closed his eyes as he cackled in laughter. A sound that echoed off the walls and made Pilar frown deeply.

"He -_UHAHA_- he takes them away! He takes them away -_HEEHAHAHA_- and what he brings back-"

Tears leaked from his eyes as he howled. She stood and witnessed the laugh transform into something horrible. It reminded her the sound a dog makes when in danger of a predator. Hysterical whining switching back and forth with savage growls. The Joker began banging his head unmercifully against the metal bars as he screamed and growled.

Pilar backed away and turned to run out the room. Suddenly, there were strong arms around her and as she screamed, "No!" a cloth was put over her mouth.

The world shifted into darkness.

* * *

She can hear something. The sound pulls her from the dark. When, at one moment, she was oblivious to the world, the next… She was aware she was cold and cramped. Her body was restricted. She was sitting but her hands were bound behind her back, she noticed. Her body was bare. She opened her eyes and blinked repeatedly before the blurriness went away. Her clothes have been removed, even her underwear. She sat in a metal folding chair in an old room; she brought up her legs to hide as much of her nakedness as possible.

The room had dirty tiled walls and a rough concrete floor. There was a drain a few feet away from her. Some dark liquid had built up around its rim. The room smelled funny to her. Of mold and cleaning products, and something else. She could hear the scuttle and scratching of little feet. Rats were somewhere in the room.

She wondered if she was still inside Arkham. She could not tell how long she had been out, but depending on the dosage of chloroform, it could have been for awhile. At least she knows there is no possible way she is outside of Gotham's city limits. She would have to escape somehow.

She realized that would be more difficult than she first though when she looked to her right. Beside her, still asleep, was another girl stripped naked. The girl must have been around her own age, somewhere between 17 and 19 years old. She had jaw length blond hair and a pretty face. Her chin was resting against her chest and around her neck was a beat up, black, leather collar. The back of the collar had a metal eyelet for hooking on to. Pilar felt her heart race as she tried to swallow and felt a collar around her own neck as well.

"Hello, girl with no name. This is a very unfortunate predicament, I must say."

The soft voice brings her attention to the man to her left. Dorcha stood behind a table that had a metal tray with numerous instruments on it and two large, glass jars filled with liquid. His face was pale once again; the whites of his eyes blooming red from lack of sleep. He gave her a kind smile as he donned a pair of rubber gloves.

"Let us go." she demanded.

Dorcha merely sighed as he organized his tools.

"I'm sorry, but that cannot happen. This is what happens when a cat becomes too curious or, hmm, should I say dog?"

As he spoke, she quietly tested the strength of her restraints. They weren't handcuffs, but what felt like a thin wire. Every pull would just cause it to bite more into her skin.

"Bane will notice I'm missing. You're one of his mercenaries, aren't you? You should know better not to cross him."

"To clarify, I am _not_ a mercenary. It does sound like a rather exciting life though, doesn't it? No, I'm merely an infirmary surgeon who offered his services. Oh, and I'm sure he will notice you're missing but he will also never find you."

Pilar licked her lips. Remembered her training and controlled her heart beat. She needed to gain some sort of control in the situation, or at least stall him before she had any chance of saving herself and the other girl. She needed to stay calm.

"Why are you doing this to the two of us? You don't need to do this."

Dorcha picked up a scalpel and held it up to admire the light reflecting off of the pristine steel. He made a sound of content.

"I use to work here, you see. Back when Jonathan Crane was still a psychiatrist and not dealing drugs with mob bosses. Back then, things were very different indeed. Things were… hmm, _difficult_. Back then, I was required to hide my odious desires."

He placed the scalpel down on the tray and gingerly picked up a pair of protective glasses and slipped them on.

"Before Bane came," he continued. "I had only killed twice. One was a homeless elderly woman from the Narrows. The other was a nineteen year old drug-addicted prostitute."

He paused for a moment, as if remembering a fond memory.

"I have never felt fear of being caught. I have never truly felt _anything_," he admitted. "-but I knew what would and would not get me caught. That all changed when Bane came. The capsizing of social statuses created pristine chaos which gave me the opportunity to, hmm, satiate my impulses. I volunteered to be one of the Joker's guards. Knowledge of the entire layout made it the ideal location for my, hmm, _nesting_, one could say. With every shift, I would bring my prizes to Arkham. So many unremarkable and uncelebrated women. The lost individuals whom society has forgotten."

The other girl was awake now. Pilar could hear the girl's breathing becoming erratic at the realization of their current situation. "Oh my god." the girl sobbed.

Pilar felt it too. The soul shattering terror that was filling her body at the realization what kind of person she was dealing with. A man without any humanity. Without mercy. Knowing that there is nothing she can say or beg to persuade him filled her with desolation. Dorcha shows no indication that he has heard the other girl crying. Instead he walked somewhere behind the two of them.

"You ask _why_." he smooth voice carried over the cries of the other girl. "I admit it's quite a, hmm, _complicated_ thing to explain. How does one explain profound emptiness? How does one explain the absence of a soul? Which is the only thing I can conclude. I have known since I was child that I was not normal. I've had the knowledge that there is something wrong within me… but my apathy towards everything and anything prevents me from wanting to change it. These activities that I take part in with unfortunate women are the only things that give me true feeling. Surely, you must understand, girl with no name? I am simply guilty of wanting to feel something."

Pilar felt cold sweat trickle down behind her ears. Her lips trembled as she turned to look at the other girl. The girl had green eyes blurred with tears. They ran down her face, over her beat red cheeks and passed the snot trailing out of her nose.

"I want to go back to my mom." her voice broke as she spoke to Pilar.

She felt frozen. She forgot how to speak. She knew she should say something. Some words of comfort. Some words of courage. But she had nothing.

Dorcha stepped in front of the blonde haired girl. He reached out and gently touched the girl's cheek. The girl cried and flinched away.

"That look… on both your faces. I think that is always my favorite part. You're not the first to try and reason with me, girl with no name. Many of them try to talk to me. _'Why are you doing this? You don't need to do this. You can be a good man.' _Then that look dawns on their face. That look when they realize there is nothing they can do, nothing they can say, to save their lives. It's the look of quiet acceptance of one's imminent death."

The girl cried harder as Dorcha disappeared behind the two of them. Pilar's heart was beating at an alarming rate. It was making her shake and feel sick. Dorcha came up behind the other girl and hooked a thick metal wire to the back of the girl's collar.

"No, no, no, no." she sobbed. But, Pilar felt disconnected. She felt only cold sweat and her heart beating in her chest.

Pilar craned her neck as much as she could to look behind them. Dorcha walked over to an automated crank. He turned and saw Pilar watching him. He gave her a tight lipped smile before pulling down a lever.

The crank whirled and the other girl shot up into the air. She stopped, suspended over the ground. Her legs kicked wildly around, knocking over the metal chair she previously occupied. Her body thrashed wildly, swaying to and fro. Pilar moved to stand up, but a hand pressed her down by the shoulder. A metal clinking sound let her know that her collar was hitched as well.

Pilar looked back up to the girl. She was slowly dying.

"No! Please! Just me! Just kill me! Let her down! Please!" she begged to Dorcha.

He appeared before the other girl, the scalpel twirling between his fingers. He gave the dying girl a short, contemplating look. The girl's face was dark. Turning from red to a dark purple. Her eyes were rolling up into her head. Docha lifted his arm and, with a precise swipe, he cut her vertically on the abdomen. The girl's bowels pushed out. Bright red and glistening. The blood splashed against the cement as her intestines hung from her. The girl's legs were still twitching.

Pilar turned away and felt hot bile rush up. It splashed against the floor by her chair. She began screaming, shaking her head, wishing what she saw did not just happen. The smell of the blood was overpowering. It was making her sick again. She screamed up at the dark ceiling. Screams of rage that she could do nothing while an innocent girl died. Screams of terror and denial that this nightmare was real. Dorcha was indifferent to her commotion, but simply stood looking at the dead girl as if she were a complex piece of art in a gallery. He spoke once Pilar's screams died down to sobs,

"From my time spent here, I must admit, psychologically, the Joker is a fascinating criminal."

Pilar turned to see him reaching his gloved hand up into the girl's chest cavity. She threw up again, this time on herself. The vomit coated her thighs. She could feel her face beating from the heat as saliva and bile slide from her lips and onto her chin. Her stomach would not stop turning; the room was tilting. Her body trembled from nausea.

"When I'm not here submerged in my own projects, I enjoy my time conversing with him. To be honest, his sense of humor is lost on me… as is most humor, for that matter."

Dorcha walked passed her holding a heart in his free hand. The blood dripped over his fingers, creating a trail of dots on the floor all the way to the table. Gently, he placed it in one of the jars, admiring it for a moment before making his way back over to the girl. He carefully sidestepped the blood which had begun to snake its way into the drain.

"I have never known another individual who finds humor in so many black aspects of life. If one is hurt in front of him, he laughs. If he is physically harmed, he laughs. With scars giving him a distinct permanent smile, it's as if he knows some secret joke in life. I believe if more people adapted his outlook, the world would most definitely be a more, hmm, interesting place."

She turned and watched as he put the scalpel into the girl's mouth and sliced upward toward her ear. He did the same to the other side. The girl use to be pretty. Pale cheeks and pink lips while she slept. Now her face was carved with an everlasting, bloody smile. She could see the girl's teeth showing through the sliced flesh. Pilar felt the urge to vomit once more. All that came up was acid. Burning her chest and throat.

"Did you know, gangs in Scotland give their victims these iconic slashes? It is dubbed the Glasgow Smile… So many people living with an eternal grin. Do you think they also know of the secret joke? Do you think they are able to laugh at life as the Joker does?"

He crouched in front of Pilar. The blood stained white gloves laced politely together, with the scalpel carefully in between. The frozen blue eyes peered through the blood specked protective glasses.

"Are you ready? You're next."

It was surreal to her. She could feel herself shutting down. His voice was completely detached from the situation. His tone implied something more innocent, as if he were asking if she was ready to go on a carnival ride. The reality around her was breaking down.

"He's going to kill you." she told him.

Dorcha cocked his head to the side, "Bane? I take great lengths to make sure that does not happen. As I've said before, the other guards I have shared shifts with are all dead. I blamed the Joker, of course, but you should comprehend the truth by now. All dead, except one… and his time is running short."

He looked up expectantly at her, "You've screamed, trembled, and vomited but you have yet to cry. I like you. Ever since I first saw you, I imagined you as one of my girls, but Bane was constantly throwing a shadow over you. Interesting how fate works… Do you wish to tell me your name? I may be the last person to acknowledge you as a human being."

She felt fury rattle her body. She would rather die. She would rather die than have some one so vile say her name.

To die as a person, wasn't that what she wanted? It did not matter. Back when there were still people who called her by name, she was still nobody. A name does not make a person who they are.

Dorcha acknowledged her silence, "Hmm, very well. I suppose it does not matter. They are all nameless once they're dead. Look at her." he reached towards her face with a bloody glove.

Pilar shook her head away and tried to avoid his grasp. But his fingers closed around her jaw and forced her head in the direction of the girl. Pilar snapped her eyes shut. She did not want to see her again. The girl who missed her mother. The girl who will never be loved again. The girl she failed. Not again.

She felt something sharp touch her cheek.

"I said _look_." he ordered threateningly.

She opened her eyes. The girl's face was pale now, lacking blood. Her eyes were closed at least. The large intestine was hanging between her legs. The blood trailed down her shapely legs where it dripped off from her toes. The corpse was now urinating and defecating. Pilar's lower lip trembled and knew Dorcha had felt it.

"This is what we leave behind. This is who we are. There is no dignity. No humility. Just bodies shitting on the world as our souls depart into another universe…" he cocked his head as he looked at her.

"You know, when I brought you down here, I was wondering what I should do with you. I do, after all, have my own, hmm, _specific_ rituals I perform to make every harvest feel _right_. But I was wondering if you should be an exception. If I should perhaps lock you up, starve you and torture you before I took your heart. Just like Bane, hmm? Took you away and made you his caged little bird, or his little dog as you've been known to be called." he smiled at her. "But then, I realized there would no point in doing so… because there is _nothing_ special about you. Nothing at all." he clicked his tongue at her.

He stood and walked behind her. She knew what came next.

Pilar closed her eyes. The quiet moment didn't feel like a moment at all, but an eternity. She was alert to her heart beating. The flow and ebb of breath within her body. Soon that will be gone. Soon that will be taken away. How did she ever take such things for granted? Soon, the blood will drain from her and her heart will be stolen from her. Leaving only an empty, shitting body.

She couldn't accept it. All she could think about was that this was not how she was supposed to die. She wasn't meant to die yet. She wasn't meant to die alone, naked, and with no one to miss her or remember her name.

She thought of her father, her mother, her brothers. Thousands of memories. Yet, so many were meaningless. So many memories that left her feeling empty. As she heard the lever being pushed down, she thought of Bane. She thought of him walking across her stomach then later when he progressed to her throat.

_"Protect your body."_

She strengthened the muscles in her neck right before the lurch. She felt her heart begin beating erratically as she was strung up in to the air. She was swinging around and she could see Dorcha staring up at her. Her strength was failing her but she knew had to hold on for just a bit longer.

"Hmm, you're a good one. You must have a strong heart. It will be a nice addition to my collection."

Dorcha approached her with the scalpel and as he lifted his arm, she swung her leg in a hard kick. She felt her foot collide with his cheekbone and heard it crack. His glasses flew off as he stumbled sideways. The movement caused her to lose concentration on her throat. The collar was squeezing against her windpipe, she felt it constrict and close. Her throat was being crushed. She knew she had to act quickly.

She lifted her knees to her chest and dislocated shoulders. Her arms swung beneath her butt and feet. The tendons and ligaments in her shoulders stretched like gum, snapping the bones back into their sockets as her arms came to the front of her body. Her bound hands clutched desperately to the collar. Her lungs felt as if they were shriveling and burning inside of her chest. Her face was building up with pressure and surely changing color.

She could see Dorcha approaching her with a blade gleaming in his hand. Her face was starting to go numb with pins and needles. There was a sudden loud bang and Dorcha lurched sideways, collapsing in a heavy heap. Pilar's vision was starting to blacken when, without notice, she dropped to the floor. Her knees and head banged against the hard surface as she sucked in beautifully cold air. Her deprived lungs spasmed giving her a coughing fit that was so violent it made her spew up some more stomach acid. Her shaking hands reached behind her head and released the wire from the eyelet, but her fingers fumbled trying to remove the collar.

Giving up, she crawled and sat up just in time to have a jacket thrown at her face. Her jacket… Bane's jacket.

"Fuckin' christ, it's like a goddamn SS torture chamber in 'ere." a throaty voice commented.

Pilar quickly pressed the jacket to the front of her body to hide the worst of her nudity. Dirty hands grabbed her own, using a wire cutter to free her. She barely registered the pain of having the imbedded wire rip out of her skin. She put her arms in the sleeves of the jacket and wrapped it up close around her.

"S'pose no point in cutting the other girlie down, innit? She was drained and gutted like a pig. God damn waste. She looks like she was a good lookin' broad." the male voice commented.

Pilar rolled back into a fetal position. The dirty hands appeared in her vision once again, snapping its fingers to get her attention. She remained motionless.

"What are ya? Retarded?" He huffed and then walked away. She heard the click of a radio.

"Barsad, retrieved the prisoner. Send a clean up crew to the Asylum. We've got bodies to burn."

"Ten four."

She caught sight of Durcha lying motionless as blood pooled around him. The knife he had been holding laid between his fallen body and hers. He was facing away from her. She was thankful she did not have to see those dead blue eyes. She reached out, her fingers closing around the knife and bringing it close to her face. It was a harpy knife, curved and sharpened like that of a claw. This was what he was going to kill her with. She would have still been alive when her bowels slipped from her.

She felt strange. In a sphere of glass as she laid trembling on the ground. She saw how slowly Dorcha's blood was moving towards the drain, mixing with the blonde girl's blood. Everything else felt so far away…

Her eyes trailed languidly back to Dorcha and what was in the background became finally noticed by her. Shelves filled with jars.

Jars with hearts.

Floating silently and solemnly in their glass prisons were the hearts of ill fated women. There were so many; so many that the amount overwhelmed her. She didn't want to count. So many women… died alone, crying, and tortured… Just as how she could have been. Her breath became shallow and it felt suddenly as if the world were closing in on her.

"Right, let's go ya lucky bitch. We've got a cell waiting' for ya."

The man's hand grabbed her roughly by her upper arm. Her reaction was instantaneous and uncontrollable. His handgun fired off aimlessly before dropping out of his hand. She saw his face for the first time. Middle aged with a dirty blonde mustache and an old scar on his forehead above his thick eyebrows. She was staring into his green eyes. Brimming with shock and outrage. He made sound like a mixture of a cough and a gasp.

"You… _fucking bitch_!" he choked out.

Pilar pulled the knife out from his ribs. He moaned stumbled backwards, clutching his wound. Pain dragging on his face. Pilar shook her head and scuttled backwards to the wall, where she began rocking herself. The bloody harpy knife was clenched tightly in her fist.

"You-_you_ bitch." he cried as he fell onto his bottom and succumbed to laying on his back.

"I ain't suppose ta die like this…" his legs shifted restlessly. His breathing became labored. "I ain't su-suppose ta…" he moved no more.

Her mind was blank and buzzing. Her ears were ringing from being so close to the gun firing. Her arms and legs wouldn't stop trembling. The man's words echoed within her. The same words she had told herself before she was hung.

She looked back to the heart shelves, something terrible and violent brewing in her chest and igniting her body with fire. Tears were stinging her eyes, but she chose not to cry.

She jumped and ran at the shelves. Shrieking as she smashed the jars, sending glass scattered across the floor. She felt uncontrollable as she jumped on top of Dorcha's dead body, repeatedly stabbing it in back.

"This is what we leave behind!" he voice was rough and croaky; damaged. "No shame! No humility! Just _shitting_-" she stabbed him on the rear before returning to his back, "-on the world!"

The rage was ebbing away from her, leaving her trembling once more. She cursed to herself, her despair still heavy and leaving her feeling empty. She stumbled away from Dorcha's mutilated body. The bottoms of her feet being cut by glass until she reached the man she murdered and crouched by him. His eyes were still open. Pilar moved to close them but instead started to remove his boots. The yellow Timberland's are comically too big and loose for her. She didn't bother to lace them before she limped out of the room with the harpy knife inside her jacket pocket.

* * *

**Bane**

He stood staring at the girl. Stark naked and free of her own blood. It painted the floor and coated the bottom of his boots. Mixed with an anthology of human hearts scattered amongst glittering glass shards. He could smell the coppery scent even through his mask. The girl had been cut open, revealing a fleshy cavern. Her face had been carved into a mock smile. But it was not _his_ girl. He imaged the little dog strung up as well. Struggling for air and bleeding to death. It caused his chest to burn.

Fortunately, she was spared that fate.

Three dead bodies and hers was nowhere to be found. Evidence showed the story. Their scout, Manno, shot and killed Dorcha. Instantaneous death. High velocity blood spatter coated the wall he was near. Where he dropped was where he died. At a certain point, he was stabbed repeatedly in the back. The blood from the wounds never dripped. It pooled around him, occurring after he had collapsed. Bane imagined the girl on top of him, lost in rage and bloodlust. He hoped she relished it. He knew he would have.

The little dog fatally stabbed their scout, for whatever reason, and ran off; not before stealing the man's shoes. There was no evidence to show she might be grievously wounded. Just some smeared blood on the pavement from a footprint. Probably from walking on broken glass.

She could be found nowhere on the property and, it seems, left the Joker unharmed as well. The man now had a new set of guards watching over him in his cage.

The girl ran away. She ran away rather than be taken back to Blackgate. Rather than be taken back to _him_. It was foolish of him to assume that just because she was in trouble, she would want to come back to him. She didn't want him to save her.

He felt the scorn like a brand on his skin. Harsh and stinging.

"How should we proceed, sir?" Barsard questioned from somewhere behind him.

"Clean up this mess." he kicked a heart and watched as it bounced off the wall. "Burn them all."

He stepped towards Dorcha and used his foot to push the man over and onto his back. With his extensive travels and mingling with sordid groups, Bane had met many sadists such as Dorcha. His vile actions did not unnerve Bane but, he had to admit, a serial killer nestled right beneath his nose was what he least expected. One more reason to ignite Gotham.

"What about the other girl? She's killed one of ours." Barsad implicated the need for punishment.

"It does not matter. You should know this." Bane responded dismissively before exiting the room.

Dorcha's deranged operating chamber was deep in the bowels of Arkham. In the underbelly where Crane had previously manufactured his own devious plot of poisoning Gotham's water supply with one of the main's that travelled beneath the asylum. A weak man. A weak plot. As was the terrorist that began reigning terror after Crane's incarceration.

Bane entered the wide room where the Joker stood caged. He waved a hand, motioning for his armed men to leave. The Joker's dark eyes never left Bane's. A predatory gaze, full of intent. The Joker pressed his face against the cage bars as the last man closed the door behind him.

"You look like in no mood to play, Mr. Bane. It's no fun when you take it too seriously." the lanky man taunted. "Funny, you bring an entire group of men just for the retrieval of one girl. I would think that you had more important things to do with your time, but I suppose not. Tell me, did you find the girl down there? Blood drained, heart missing, with a smile carved into her face? I wonder if he sodomized her as well. He had mentioned to me how he likes to sometimes _violate_ the bodies post-mortem."

Bane simply stared coldly at the Joker. The man's lips pursed into a smirk.

"The girl came here for a reason. You will tell me what you two spoke about." Bane ordered.

"She came searching for the truth and I gave it to her. When I told her that the _infamous_ Ra's Al Ghul's daughter was in town, she seemed surprisingly heartbroken. As was she when I revealed the instability of that bomb of yours. The betrayal was palpable. _Bravo_, you must have done something quite sick for her to trust her captor so _utterly_."

Bane stood toe to toe with the cage and clenched his fists so harshly, it caused his fingers and knuckles to crack. The Joker raised his eyebrows and his lips formed an o-shape.

"What is _this_? Some kind of sentiment perhaps? Guilt over causing such despondency in a young woman? My, my, my… What would the people say? What would Talia say?"

Bane's fist shot out and grabbed the Joker by the front of his straight jacket. The man emitted a loud, mocking laugh.

"What exactly are you going to do? Threaten me with pain? Kill me? _HA_, you have no power. _No_ power over me. You don't think I still have supporters within this maimed city? I could leave my cage whenever I please, but I don't need to. You scheme and build yourself up on a teetering pile of self-importance and I'm only waiting for you to come down. You see, you're only a _man_. Mistaking the Batman as someone like yourself, but he's no mere man. He is something more abstract and whatever you've done with him, wherever you've put him… He'll come back. For when there is chaos, there needs to be order in which to balance it. Then, he and I will continue our dance of minds until the end of time while you diminish into the background as a vague memory of _the_ _man with a mask_."

Bane looked over the Joker. If he were a lesser man, he may have felt pity for the lunatic. His delirium and attachment to the Batman was nauseating to Bane. He felt mortification that not too long ago, he was also obsessed with destroying Gotham's dark knight.

He released the Joker. The man gave him a dour expression, disappointment in Bane's lack of engagement.

"You deserve the death coming to you." Bane stated solemnly before exiting the room.

As he left the Joker's presence, a specific sentence clung to him like a monster.

"_For when there is chaos, there needs to be order in which to balance it._"

Such a sick mind could have such crystal sanity. Bane thought of the chaos of nature, of the the universe. He thought of the chaos that lived within each and every person. Everything that we perceive and know as reality, exists because of the order and laws which balance this chaos. Was the girl the order to balance his chaotic essence? Has she stumbled into his life for a reason?

No, he had to remind himself. These are only justifications that we generate when we look at the pattern of life for too long. There is nothing.

Nothing.

* * *

**Pilar**

She never knew a more painful journey. There was glass in the sole of her right foot. With each step, she could feel it being pushed deeper and deeper. Blood seeped into the padding of the boot, creating a squelching sound as she walked. She limped pitifully onward, shivering from the cold. Her legs were tight with goosebumps. Thankfully, the jacket covered most of her body and reached the middle of her thigh, but she was still nude underneath. Still vulnerable to the cold.

It had been the middle of the night when she entered Arkham. Now, the new morning sun gleamed through the buildings. Was there a possibility that it had all been a dream? A very terrible nightmare? The pain in her foot wouldn't allow her such hopes. It did. It did happen. Her mind could not comprehend how close she was to such a deplorable death, of what she saw and witnessed. She couldn't comprehend how a single man could unapologetically defile so many women and keep their hearts in a perverse treasure. She couldn't comprehend how Bane had sentenced Gotham to a fiery death. All that she knew… would be gone…

With that thought, she came to her destination and collapsed on to the stone steps of her old home. These steps had been a place of comfort and safety when she was a child. She could view the world but still be in the secure proximity of her family. These were the steps from her dreams. The ones she sat on when her father came to tell her things from beyond the grave. Soon, they will be gone. Meaningless and insignificant. Every part of her gone.

She sat there now. Waiting. Waiting for something. Waiting for answers. Waiting for her father. Waiting for some kind of sense to bring to all of this.

She anxiously rubbed her knuckles but nothing came. There were no answers; merely the echoing within her own mind. No person came. Not her father. Not the Batman. Not God. No one… She was alone. She felt like crying out. She wanted to scream, _'You were supposed to be there for me!' _

To which of the three? Possibly all. Instead, she sat with a face etched in stone that stared listlessly at the cracks in the road.

How could this be? She was alive… for a reason, right? At any time, Bane could have killed her. He didn't. Dorcha was about to cut her from throat to groin, but he didn't get the chance. She nearly suffocated to death, but she didn't… and all she could hope for was that it was for some kind of reason.

_"Just trying to find meaning in a meaningless world." _

The Joker's voice popped into her mind and smile broke out on her face, which quickly turned to a sob. The truth was painful and comical to her. She felt like she was trying to hold onto something. Something pointless… but it was all simply falling through her desperate fingers.

It was all a joke, wasn't it? Human beings are not in the loving bosom of some all knowing, all seeing entity. They are not selected. They are not unique. They are merely organisms on a drifting rock within a forever expanding universe, trailing further and further away from any other possible living organisms.

It was almost like mankind was made to be lonely.

Just like how she, the girl with no name, was meant to be lonely.

How did life turn out this way? All that she valued, all that she loved… so easily broken and stamped out. Wrong could never be turned to right. Shatter a teacup and that is how it will stay. That was what Bane had done to her. Shattered her life and that is how it will forever be changed.

She had never felt such pain before. All the despondency. The misery, the hopelessness, the loneliness, the anger. All of it was caged within her, with no outlet. With no direction. She wished that she could just find a reason. She felt rage. Frothy, burning hatred that singed her insides. Part of her was happy that the fire was coming. Part of her liked the idea that the evidence of all the horrible things that occurred within Arkham will be destroyed. Maybe it wasn't such a bad thing that they were all going to hell.

She heard a noise come from behind her. Something hard touched the back of her head and before the gun was even cocked, she knew exactly what it was.

"You've five seconds to fuck off." a man's voice ordered from behind her.

She turned her head. The man pressed the barrel of the shotgun against her cheek. She leered up at him; this man, this stranger, this home invader. A middle aged man with scraggly peppered hair and beard. A woman with prominent cheek bones stood clutching one of his arms, afraid of what he might do but still condoning.

"This is my house." Pilar insisted.

The man glared unapologetically down at her. "I use to have my own fucking house as well, but that all changed. This home is ours now so I suggest you move on, unless you would also like to lose your skull." the man barked.

The woman pulled on her husband's arm, "Martin, it's just a girl!"

The man ignored her and began counting down, "Five… _four_…"

Pilar turned her head forwards. She didn't want to leave. This house was the last remaining string attaching her to the past. To who she was before. The last remaining thing… she didn't want to lose it as well. Was it so stupid? Was it so pointless? To want to hold on to the things that you love?

"Three… two…"

Pilar stood slowly and staggered down the steps. She looked back up at the man and woman standing in the house's doorway, and wanted to laugh. It was all pointless. Desperate fingers trying to hold on to something that is not meant to stay. All that she had left. Her home, her memories, her father's books. Nothing stays in this life. Nothing lasts. It did not matter. Soon, they would all die in fire.

She wanted to laugh at life, at the unsuspecting couple; but her heart felt too heavy. Instead she limped away and heard the door to her home close on her forever.

* * *

**Bane**

"The pilot just wants to confirm again the location and time of pick up."

Bane walked through the halls of Blackgate, with Barsad in step.

"He does not have faith in my calculations." Bane mused with a dark chuckle.

"No, sir. He is loyal to the League. He has the courage to do his job."

"He only needs enough courage for a one way trip. Once he lands, he will no longer be needed and I'll discard him myself."

Barsad nodded and the air around him sparked with hesitation.

"And will it just be the two of you?" the younger man questioned.

They arrived to the door of Bane's cell when they stopped. Bane stood and looked down at the man, who averted his gaze to the floor. Bane reached out and placed an assuring hand on Barsad's shoulder, close to his neck. The action seemed to alarm him more than anything. He flinched slightly before Bane spoke.

"Brother, you need not worry. You will be rewarded for what you have done. The three of us will be leaving Gotham before it is purged." Bane lied.

The man's blue eyes looked up in relief and gratitude. Bane looked back at him and imagined snapping his neck right before the man jumped into the helicopter. He was a fool if he actually believed he was irreplaceable, but fools have their uses… Atleast, for the time being.

Barsad's eyes slid away from Bane's face and into the direction of his cell. Bane turned to follow his gaze.

There she was. Curled into a ball on his cot. Dead man's shoes left carelessly on the floor. Her bloody foot staining his sheet.

"Leave." he dismissed Barsad.

The younger man took his time leaving, but was gone by the time Bane stood by the side of the cot. She did not look as peaceful as when she usually slept. Her face lacked her normal color. It was stressed out and drained. She was wearing his jacket and, he realized, nothing else as the back hiked up a bit to reveal her bare bottom. His eyes lingered there a moment longer than they should have. He frowned at himself for doing so. Just a girl, he told himself.

One of her hands was hidden beneath the pillow, clutching the softness close to her face. The other hand was curled up near her mouth. Her lips pressed against the knuckle. There was dried blood on her hand. Her skin around her wrist looked chewed up. A rough worn collar was around her neck. The same one that had strangled the dead girl. His little dog now wore a collar. Ironic. He could have laughed if it did not anger him so much.

He sat beside her laying form and reached for the collar around her neck. Suddenly, the girl was awake. The hand that had been under the pillow shot out and a knife was held up to his throat. Those burning dark eyes were wild as she glared at him. She was so vividly alert that he had to wonder if she had been feigning sleep.

"I'm not going to hurt you." he assured her.

She scoffed at him.

"No, you won't hurt me." she agreed.

"Just kill me. Just kill me and everything and everyone I've ever known. You've taken my father away from me. You've taken my life away from me. You had me believe I could actually be somebody, only to just leave me here to die. You had me believe…" her hand trembled. "… believe that I still had somebody in this world that cared about me. But it was all just some fucked up game, right? All those things you told me, they were _bullshit_!"

She clenched her teeth at him.

"You think I'm weak? You think I'm just some _stupid_ girl? Just a _fucking_ nameless dog?! Before you could have any chance to stop me, I could cut your throat. I could kill you. I could fucking _kill you_! Or maybe I should cut the tubes in your mask and make you writhe around in agony before I kill you. And I should, because you deserve to die. Out of everyone in this stupid city, you deserve to die _the most_."

She pushed the knife harder against his muscled neck. He felt a mild sting and something trickle down his neck. Fear was absent from him though.

"Every man must die. We only make up reasons as to why they deserve it. Kill me, girl."

Her eyes flashed and her jaw clenched. She showed her hesitation. At that moment, he could have done any number of things to disarm her or even kill her. But he did not. He wanted her to fully choose.

He could see all of her emotions tumbling around just right beneath the skin. Against all reason, her hand unclenched, allowing the knife to drop to the sheets. A scream of rage ripping through her at her own failure. Her bloody fingers went to her short hair and pulled on what small length she had.

"After all those things I said to you, before I gave you your freedom, you still believe that I think of you as some worthless girl?" he questioned. "I told you what I thought you were and who you could be."

Bane stood from the cot and watched her fume with self-hatred. She dragged her beaten body all this way just to kill him. Only to not be able to bring herself to do it. Originally, he would have thought it was because of her innocent nature. But she was no longer innocent. She's killed purposely now. Yet, she could not bring herself to kill him. A man who she has every reason to hate, every reason to kill; for her own selfish revenge and for the greater good of Gotham… But she didn't. She did not want to harm him.

Just as how he did not want to harm her. He did not want her to die. He did not want her to die alone in the streets, watching a big ball of flames engulf all that was around her. But, he could not take her. If he took her and saved her, Talia would just cut her throat. It would be even crueler for him to give her hope and lead her to death once again.

Should he kill her now? Quickly. Painlessly. He could embrace her in a hug. She could feel comfort for one last lingering moment before he snapped her neck.

As he grabbed her hand, the girl looked up at him in shock. Rattled by his tenderness. Her anger evaporated and she simply stared at their two hands together. He had her stand, hobbling on one foot. His thick arms wrapped around her shoulders and pulled her into his chest. She stood stiffly as his one hand snaked up into her short hair and affectionately rubbed the back of her head. At that moment, she held on to him and began trembling. She said his name, her voice muffled by his chest.

She began crying then. Violently racked with sobs and hiding her shameful tears in his shirt. She held on to him so tightly, it was as if she were afraid to be taken away. She started recounting the things she saw the previous night. Most of what she said was incomprehensible as she was helpless to her own emotional tide. But Bane felt something heavy settle in the pit of his stomach, and as she spoke and cried, his muscles clenched and he squeezed her so tightly he was surprised she did not cry out in discomfort.

She looked up at him. The dark eyes that he had been use to seeing ablaze in ire were now glossy and tragic with wet eyelashes. Her face distraught with pain from the memories.

"You're safe now." he told her.

His hands went up to either side of her face. She closed her eyes, a few more tears rolling down her cheeks. He knew it was the moment to do it, but all he felt was poisonous guilt in his veins. He positioned his hands for a quick snap when she wobbled up on the balls of her feet. She pressed her lips against the front of his mask. He did nothing. Said nothing. Stood like stone and counted her wet eyelashes before she pulled away. She looked up at him with those large brown eyes, pupils as large as saucers, and he knew he would not be able to kill her. He could not save her. He could not do anything. He was as helpless as she was. He cursed himself inwardly and pushed away from her.

"Leave." he told her.

"I-I'm sorry. I won't do it again. I just-"

"You do not belong here. You do not belong with the League of Shadows. Go." he ordered.

She shook her head. "No."

"You don't belong here with me." he snapped.

She shook her head again. Her chin quivering as she stumbled backwards and sat on the cot once more.

"Don't say that." her voice cracked. "Don't you say that to me."

Her hands clasped her face. Nails digging into her skin.

"You've taken everything. _Everything_ from me!" she accused with wrath. "Every single of my past hopes and dreams were taken away! You took away my identity! My _name_!"

But she wailed pitifully. Her anger washed away into misery.

"I have no name! But… I _want_ no name! I don't want to be anybody! I want to be no one and nothing. I hate you! I hate you for what you've done to me! But, you're the only one. The only one I have. The only one who has given me any sort of purpose in a meaningless world. I want you to take me away. Away from Gotham. Away from people. Away from Arkham Asylum. I don't care where we go, or what you do. Burn it all, fuck, I don't care! I don't want to ever see it again! If you were to wander into the nothingness and isolation of space, I would even follow you there! Anywhere! But, please, not here! I don't care. Please, don't say you'll leave me here alone!"

He breathed quietly through his mask. An uneasiness stirred in his stomach.

"You need to sleep." was all he could say.

She wiped her tears in a sloppy manner.

"I don't think I can ever sleep again after… after…" she drifted off and was quiet for a moment before sobbing once again.

"Just lay down then. I need to tend to your injuries."

From underneath the cot, he dragged out a white metal box. Inside revealed it to be a medical kit with different assortment of supplies. He pulled out gloves, antiseptic, alcohol, tweezers, and a roll of gauze bandages. When he pulled on the gloves, she was laying down staring up at him. The smack of the rubber glove made her flinch. He sat beside her on the cot and gently took her hand. He began cleaning and sterilizing the gashes on her wrists. She was silent, except the occasional hiss of pain, and simply stared at him. Not at what he was doing, but his face. Her eyes never left his, even if he was not looking at her. It was irritating him. With her wrists wrapped, he prepped the tweezers and went to working on the glass in her foot.

"I've told you… never expect to find anyone who understands you. It will only lead you to disappointment. You're wrong to put such endearment in me. It will only lead to pain." came his comfortless voice.

"Doesn't everything in life lead to some sort of pain?" she retorted.

On queue, he pulled the shard from the sole of her foot. The girl groaned and cursed. Her words echoed in his mind and he almost scoffed at them. When did his little dog become so wise?

He sanitized the wound and wrapped it up. She was still filthy though. Coated with sweat, blood on her hands and feet, and vomit on her thighs. More than a shower, she needed to sleep. He could see it in her eyes as she watched him throw away the contaminated gloves and swabs.

"Your fatigue and shock have made you delirious."

She blinked languidly up at him.

"You think that because I'm tired, that's why I said those things before? I know what I said and I meant it." she muttered darkly to him. "I close my eyes and I see him with that knife. I'm scared to fall asleep and wake up in that chair again." she breathed a shaky breath.

"As long as I have a pulse, I will make sure no one will do that again." he assured her.

"You'll watch over me while I sleep?"

"If that's what you wish." he answered quietly.

She nodded her head and curled up. She patted the empty space next to her, beckoning him to be beside her. He pursed his lips, hesitant for a moment, before he allowed himself to lay stiffly beside her. She wrapped herself in the now bloody sheet. He propped the back of his head with his hands as she took the pillow. She nestled herself by his side. He glared up at the ceiling, feeling her body warm up beside him, not use to the sensation at all. The last time he shared his bed with a woman was Talia, and that had been years ago.

"That man… he wanted my heart." she mumbled into her pillow. "He was going to put it in a glass jar. Sit it on a shelf. Make it look pretty for a lifetime. But he couldn't have it… It was gone before he could get to it."

He frowned at her cryptic words. But attempted to comfort her nonetheless.

"I tried to break you. Shatter your shackles that society had given you. Make you revert to your true human nature. Something horrible and chaotic. But your goodness is, shockingly, your true self. Your heart is not gone, girl."

She hummed into her pillow.

"You're right… it just belongs to… someone… else."

Her breathing became deep and rhythmic, leaving him alone with his thoughts. For awhile, he stared at the ceiling. His jaw clenching and unclenching as he thought about what she said. He chanced a look at her. She seemed more peaceful now. Better than when she was first napping in his bed. His eyes landed on the black collar once again. He wrapped his arm awkwardly around her, his hands finding a way to unzip it. The sound disturbed her only slightly. She groaned in annoyance and nuzzled closer to him. He finally unzipped the old leather and pulled it from her neck. His eyes caught the sight of her tenderized skin. The bruises were dark and made a ring around her neck. He tossed the collar angrily across the cell.

She was lucky that her neck didn't break or her trachea wasn't crushed. His hand hovered above her throat, preventing himself from brushing his fingers against it. An angry sound warbled out from his mask as he returned his hand behind his head.

What was he going to do with her?


End file.
